He heard himself groan. He was so far gone on her. His body hurt from constant arousal, but this was for her. To show her how beautiful she was. How powerful. How much he wanted her. That he was giving himself to her. All of him. Bad and good. He kissed her over and over, deliberately shifting her in his arms to keep her arousal high. He rubbed his chest tight against her nipples, stimulating them as well. When he knew he wouldn’t be able to pull back if he didn’t stop, he lifted his head and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Thank you, Mariko. Thank you for this.” She’d come to him. Initiated their session. Given herself to him to keep him from pounding out his anger on the heavy bag.

She lifted her long lashes and looked into his eyes. He saw her surrender there and his heart stuttered in his chest and he had to let go of her before he lost all control.

“You have to know I want you with every breath I take,” he admitted.

She smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Resolutely he turned away to get the camera. He spent the next forty minutes photographing her. Positioning her. Watching her desire rise with every frame he took. Every movement of the ropes. The flush on her skin. The need in her eyes. Her breathing. He captured the moments on film knowing he would never let another living soul see her this way. She was for him. This was private. An intimacy only between the two of them. He also knew he would put some of these pictures on canvas and hang them in his private studio.

Just as he was putting down the camera, judging that she was near her limit and still had to allow him to untie her, his phone vibrated. Not the normal vibration, but the one that was programmed in by Taviano – his genius of a brother who came up with all sorts of gadgets for them. He glanced down at his phone. Emilio. This particular vibration meant one thing: they were under attack.

He caught up the shears he always had on him when working and hurried to her. Wrapping one arm around her, he began to carefully cut away his ropes. “I know you’re exhausted, Mariko. You should be lying in my lap, my arms around you, holding you close while you come back slowly, but we don’t have time. The enemy has found us here and we’re going to be in a fight any minute. I’m going to cut you loose and carry you to the chair. I want you to drink water and then put on my T-shirt.”

Mariko nodded, clearly struggling to come out from under the effects of the ropes. “I’m with you, Ricco.”

Dio, he loved her. Right then. That fast. She was somewhere deep in subspace, floating in a web of sensual delight, and just like that she was his warrior woman, prepared to fight at his side. Who wouldn’t love a woman like that?

The ropes dropped to the ground and he lifted her into his arms and took her to the chair. For one moment he cradled her to his chest and brushed her forehead with his lips. “Drink. Hydrate. The T-shirt. I have no doubt you can fight in your lingerie, but I prefer to be the only man who ever sees you like this.”

She nodded, blinking rapidly, reaching for the water bottle, preparing herself, not asking questions, trusting him to get the information they needed to stay alive.

CHAPTER TEN

Teresa Ventura smirked to herself as she pulled on the long gloves, all the while watching herself in the mirror. Her plan was getting closer to fruition. She hadn’t thought it would take so long, nor did she think she would like it so much, but Phillip Ferraro was nearly in her net.

For an older man, he wasn’t half bad. He certainly had all the moves and put her up in the best of places. Her high-rise apartment had a fantastic view of the city and anyone living there was treated as if they were made of money. The jewelry he bought her was worth a fortune. Now, all she had to do was convince him to get rid of his wife and marry her. She’d have the entire fortune.

“Teresa. What are you doing in there?”

She liked the impatience in his voice. He was always so eager to see her. “I’ve got a surprise for you, honey,” she called back and then winked at herself in the mirror.

She looked good. Better than good. Her thigh-high stockings were sheer black. Her garters, sexy lacy black. She had a great figure. She’d learned in high school the benefits of working out and looking fantastic. Switching on the music, she found the rhythm and danced out of her bedroom.

She was good at dancing. She’d gotten a job in a strip bar and made a ton of money dancing, but it wasn’t nearly as lucrative as this venture could be. She began a bump and grind, going to the floor, coming back up again, slowly stripping the glove from her right arm and hand.

Phillip stood in the middle of the room, just where he’d been when she’d danced in. He looked stunned. Good. It was time to step things up. They’d hit a plateau and she needed to up the ante so he’d do his part.

Phillip watched Teresa’s striptease from the center of the room. He’d come to tell her it was over. He’d use Eloisa, of course; it always worked when you convinced a mistress that your wife was psycho and capable of anything. He was merely trying to protect his beloved by leaving her. He always left his mistresses happy, weeping but happy with the money he settled on them.

He could appreciate a good striptease, and Teresa had always been excellent. He’d first seen her at a strip bar. She had a good body and a mouth on her that wouldn’t quit, but he was bored out of his mind. He was getting too old for this, and Eloisa was getting ready to dump him. He read the signs easily. She’d gone from hurt to angry to indifferent, and now there was a new resolve in her.

Eloisa. Right from the beginning, he’d manipulated her into believing he loved her. Over the years, he found, to his shock, that just might be true. Phillip’s phone buzzed annoyingly. He didn’t bother to answer it. It was probably the bodyguards. He’d given them the slip to come here, but he’d be back soon. Eloisa was making noises about being on alert, but that was just silly. He was a rider and no one could find him in the shadows.

“Phillip!” Teresa reclaimed his attention. She pouted beautifully. “You aren’t watching and I did all this for you.”

All what? Put on her working clothes? He was damn tired of lies. His lies. His mistresses’ lies. Did Teresa really think she was the only woman he had? Or that he would put her above Eloisa? The phone buzzed again, and sighing, he reached into his pocket.

Something thunked hard against the window. It was so loud the sound drowned out the music. He glanced up, and Teresa stopped her dance in mid-grind. The thick glass spider-webbed out from a single source right in the center as if something large had hit it. Maybe a bird. As both stared, a little in shock, two men rappelling from the roof kicked in the window with their heavy boots, shattering the glass and sending shards exploding through the room like missiles. Both had automatic weapons and wielded them with ease, obviously from long practice.

Red and orange spray erupted from the muzzles and Phillip went over backward. He saw Teresa on the floor, her body looking like a broken rag doll, stained bright red. He looked down at his chest. Nothing registered. Not pain. He wasn’t certain what had happened. A shadow fell across him and he looked up to see a man with a gun standing over him. The man lifted the gun and aimed it right at his face. A thousand regrets rushed through his mind, the main one Eloisa.