Kiss & Control: A Mafia Romance Read online

  I could run again. The door is less than two feet away and unlocked. But now that it’s dark, I’m still half-frozen, and I noticed that blood on him, it seems like a near-certain death wish to make an escape attempt. If I can thaw a little, I might be able to whack him over a head with a log or something. That’ll buy me time, and I can steal his keys.

  “You smoke?” I ask, wanting to fill the nothingness between us with something. Idle chatter. Anything. Maybe if I’m friendly, he won’t be too harsh when confining me again. He might be less willing to kill me if the thought crosses his mind, too.

  He doesn’t turn around, but I hear the disgust in his voice with his answer. “Hell no.”

  “Oh.” I push to sit up, pulling his coat close. Despite the long walk, it’s still warm and smells like him.

  “You’ll need a bath,” he says, fussing with logs and a scrap of paper from his pocket. A receipt, maybe, based on its size. “You need to get your body temperature up and soak your wounds.”

  He’s probably right, but I refuse to look at my legs to confirm. I also can’t imagine willingly climbing in a bath using what came out of the faucet earlier. “The water’s like ice and will probably give me leprosy.”

  “I’ll warm up a few pots first, obviously,” he grumbles. “And it’s well water. It’s only that color and smell because of the iron and cedar in the area.”

  I’ve never heard of water like that before. Not near Philly, at least. “Where are we?”

  He ignores me, still fussing with the fireplace’s contents. “I’ll grab supplies at first light.”

  That makes me sit up straighter. “You’re staying the night?”

  I don’t know whether to be terrified or overjoyed. Him staying the night might mean I get to sit in front of the fire instead of laying chained to the bathtub. It may also mean a night of hell.

  “I don’t have much choice,” he bites out. “Someone tempted death and gallivant through the forest in a snowstorm.”

  I dare a smirk at his back. “So you’re snowed in with me?”

  The fire comes to life, illuminating his frame with an orange halo. “No, I need to make sure you don’t turn into a Klondike bar.”

  “I’ll manage,” I lie. I’ve never been so cold in my life, and if he leaves me in that bathroom, I can’t promise not to have a nervous breakdown or seven.

  “Ever made a fire?” he asks, finally turning to look at me. His blue eyes are softer than they were earlier, reminding me of the man I first met that egged me on. Not a murderer.

  I shake my head, and he laughs.

  “I should’ve known that.”

  “I went to camp once,” I protest. “Day camp. I was eight, and we made wildflower headpieces.” I also hated every hour I was there, and it took place at a local park—not in the woods.

  He laughs harder, running a hand over his face. “Useful survival skill.”

  “What about you, big shot? You don’t look like you light many fires, pretty boy.”

  The only ones he looks like he’s acquainted with are panty fires. Perla always gushes about guys that scream sex and I never knew what she meant until now. This guy might be a criminal, but he’s more than easy on the eyes. I can totally picture him in one of those cologne commercials with the half-naked guy for no apparent reason. I’d buy a bottle, too.

  He swallows hard, and the playfulness drains out of him. “I’ve started a lot of fires, kid.”

  I raise a brow. “You go camping a lot?”

  He nods. “Every summer growing up. Real camping, too. None of this glamping shit today. Tents, bonfires, and sleeping bags.” He waves around the room when he says glamping and I have to laugh.

  “This is not glamping.” This decrepit building is probably rougher than any tent. And at least a tent is mostly dry and didn’t smell like an old boot. They seem that way, at least. I’ve never been in one. Don’t plan on it, either.

  “Spend a night in a tent during a rainstorm and then you can answer that,” he grumbles. “It’s fucking miserable.”

  I rub my hands together, relieved to have some feeling back in them. “Did you forget I’ve spent the last few days chained to a bathtub?”

  “It’ll only be worse now,” he replies, and that bubble of hope I dared to have pops. “Running away was a mistake.”

  12

  Fallon

  It takes twenty pots of fucking water to make the tub warm enough to sit Little Miss Mouthpiece in it comfortably. I have to use the dented saucepot missing a handle that Torin left in the cabinet, carrying it back and forth from the tub to the fireplace while Eva watches silently from the floor.

  Evangelina. Not fucking Eva. She’s not a friend.

  She hasn’t said a peep since I let her know she isn’t getting off easy. The handcuffs and chain will remain in use, but I’ll have to get a little crafty to make sure she doesn’t pull off a repeat performance. Hopefully, there’s a hardware store nearby.

  When the tub’s ready, I come out of the bathroom, and her lip trembles when I look her way. “Rub-a-dub-dub, kid.”

  She hesitates at first, but eventually tries to stand, crying out when her bloodied feet bear her full weight. She’s warmed up now that we’ve been inside for a while, meaning every nerve is back to firing at full capacity and registering the trauma her forest run put them through.

  Now that she’s standing, I have a clear view of the damage, too, and it isn’t pretty. Punctures and scratches mar her legs from the knees down, her olive skin transformed into a canvas of pain. An outline of blood droplets and smears decorates where she sat on the floor.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, crossing the room just as she flops back to floorboards, unable to take the pain of standing any longer.

  She holds up her hands in front of her face as if she’s fending off blows. “No, please, no! Just give me a minute and I’ll try again!”

  “I’ll carry you,” I offer, offended that she thinks I’ll hit her. I’ve never hit a woman in my life. Aside from slapping her ass. But that doesn’t count.

  She still shrinks away when I reach for her, squealing as I scoop her up and pull her against my chest, careful to only grip around her arms and thighs, avoiding the tender area low on her legs.

  She smells like me as I carry her into the bathroom, my suit jacket rubbing my cologne all over her body, marking her. I hate that I like the brand even more now that it's mixed with her natural scent.

  “It’s not boiling, is it?” she asks when I near the tub. She can’t see that the water isn’t steaming, the light from the fireplace trickling through the doorway barely gives the room more than a soft glow.

  “Nope. Lukewarm. I can add more hot water when you get in.” I was more concerned with getting her in the water sooner rather than later.

  “You can set me down here.” She points at the space next to the tub, but that’s a no go. If she can barely stand, there’s no way in hell that she can climb into the tub. That’ll be torture.

  “I’ll put you in. Relax.”

  She stiffens in my arms. “I don’t want to get the coat wet. It’s all I have to wear.”

  Fuck. “I’ll give you my shirt.”

  I have a t-shirt under my button-down. That’ll keep me warm until morning while the coat dries in front of the fire. I’ll take the blanket. She’ll use the sleeping bag. Problem solved.

  “I think I should keep the coat dry,” she protests. “You don’t know how cold it gets in here at night. We both need all the layers we can get.”

  “We have a fire,” I point out, though I know damn well that I only have four logs to last all night. Not exactly the most realistic scenario of keeping this place toasty.

  She chews her lip, worry straining her face in the dim light. “If you stand me up in the tub, I can take it off. But you need to promise you’ll close your eyes.”

  “Didn’t take you for the modest type,” I tease, leaning to lower her feet-first into the water.

  She hisses
as her flesh makes contact with the water, looping her arms around my neck. “Easy, easy!”

  I let her adjust to the water until she’s submerged to her calves and her feet touch the bottom of the tub. “You good?”

  She nods, but her arms remain around my neck, anchoring me to her. “I just need a second. Please.”

  The easy thing to do would be to push her away and watch her suffer after the hell of an afternoon she put me through, but I don’t. Instead, I let her go at her own pace, watching as she musters up the nerve to slip her arms from around my neck and rest all of her weight onto her feet.

  “Please turn around,” she begs, moving her fingers to the coat’s buttons.

  I do as she asks out of respect, hearing her sniffles before the coat falls to the wooden floor in a plop. There’s the telltale shift in water as she lowers herself in.

  “Do you need more hot water?” I ask.

  “Yes, please.” It comes out in a squeak.

  I grab the pot that’s at my feet and move to fill it at the tub’s faucet. I don’t look at her, but I know she has her hands covering her chest again. She’s awfully shy about nakedness given her foul mouth and the dress she had on when Torin grabbed her. That thing was glorified lingerie. I doubt Antonio knows his baby girl runs around looking like a high-class hooker.

  After three more pots of boiling water, she’s content, lying back in the tub with her head to the side, her hands cupping her breasts just above the waterline, shielding them from view.

  I go to leave when she turns to face me. “Hey.”

  I look everywhere but at her. “Yeah?”

  I don’t need to catch a glimpse of temptation. Not a fucking chance.

  “Thanks, Mister.”

  It takes a second to realize she called me that because she doesn’t know my name and not because she’s being a smartass.

  “You’re welcome.” It comes out as a croak, my voice clogged with desire.

  Christ.

  I need to stay the fuck away from her in that tub.

  At least an hour passes before I hear a peep from the bathroom. “Uh, Mister. We have a problem.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, slowly rising to my feet in front of the fireplace. I already stripped my button-down off while waiting, and the fire makes the cabin cozy despite my short sleeves.

  “I don’t have a towel,” she croaks.

  I brush the dirt off my pants from the floor. “Use the coat. You can wear my shirt. I’ll bring it in when you’re ready.”

  “Yeah, about that…” she trails. By the sound of her voice, I can picture fidgeting in the tub. “I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this.”

  “I’ll help you.” I’m not thrilled with the prospect of having her practically naked and near me again, but I’ll manage.

  “I’m naked!” It comes out as more of a squeal than anything else.

  I sigh, moving toward the bathroom door. “Relax. I’ve seen more naked women than your gynecologist.” And she’s firmly in the no-fly zone, even if thinking about fucking her gives me an unwelcomed stiffy.

  “So you’re a man whore?” she huffs.

  Jesus, this girl does nothing but argue.

  “I’m a lot older than you.” I’ll leave it at that. I’m not diving into my sex life with this chick. I don’t owe her an explanation. I don’t owe one to anyone. It’s not like I’m rawdogging hookers and pornstars. I wrap my shit.

  “Doesn’t mean you should sleep around.”

  I ignore her lecturing. She sounds like Ma when she climbs on her little soap box. I can picture the two of them trying to nag me to death. “Are you ready, or do you prefer to soak all night like a tea bag?”

  “Do you promise you won’t look at me?”

  I glare at the open doorway. “I need my eyes open to get in there. Cover yourself.”

  She grumbles to herself for a moment, and there’s splashing. “Okay, the coast is clear.”

  I walk in to find her right where I left her, only now she has her wet hair pulled in front of her chest with one arm across her tits and the other below the water’s surface, presumably covering her pussy.

  I bend and grab the coat. “You can wear this like a robe in front of the fire until you’re dry.”

  She nods, squirming under the water. Her discomfort rolls off her in waves. “Please don’t look at me.”

  “With all this insisting, you’re doing nothing but piquing my interest. Do you have star-shaped nipples or something?”

  I intend to lighten the mood, but my comment does anything but. Instead, the fearless escape artist bursts into tears. She goes from zero to one-hundred, sobbing like I just told her I gutted her family and offed the family dog for kicks.

  I’m left to rub her back, imitating the shushing noises Ma made when I’d get hurt as a kid. Her bare skin is smooth and hot to the touch, and while at first she bristles at the contact, she soon relaxes, folding in on herself to cry. I shouldn’t have my hands on her right now. I shouldn’t be anywhere near her, naked and wet. Bad idea.

  “I meant nothing by it,” I explain, completely and totally out of my element as my fingers trace her spine. “Honestly, it’d be cool if you had star-shaped nipples.” If she does, she’s probably a hit at parties.

  “I don’t have star-shaped nipples,” she snaps, not finding me or my calming tactics very soothing. “I just don’t want you to see me.”

  “I never said I wanted to do a pelvic exam on you. Calm down.” At this rate, I’ll happily pretend she has three nipples and a tail. I don’t really give a flying fuck. I just want her out of the tub and in front of the fire. In clothing and far from me.

  I pull away and hold out the coat with closed eyes, waiting for her to do whatever she needs to do at her own pace.

  The water sloshes back and forth as she slowly rises to her feet, the gurgle of the drain plug sounding before she takes the coat from my hands. After a moment, she sniffles and finally speaks. “Ready.”

  I lift her from the tub, placing her on my shoulder like I did for our hike back to the cabin. It’s the easiest way to get her out and touch the least amount of skin. She smells like cedar and woman. Gritting my teeth, I carry her into the living area and place her in front of the fire, where I have the button-down shirt and sleeping bag waiting. “We’ll sleep out here tonight.”

  Her eyes flick to me, her long hair wet and wavy. “We?”

  “Would you prefer to sleep in the bathroom?” I ask, turning my back to her and nudging at the fire with a spare log.

  She shifts, the hiss of her legs sliding into the sleeping bag filling the air. “No.”

  “So don’t complain.” I look over my shoulder at her, annoyed at how her skin radiates in the fire’s glow. She’s too beautiful for her own good. Like a shiny little trinket I want to swoop back to my nest with and keep for a rainy day. Oddly enough, it’s not just her looks that have me interested. It’s that mouth. That filthy, smart mouth that always keeps me on my toes.

  Her throat bobs with a swallow. “Thank you.”

  “For?” I ask.

  “Helping me.” Her voice is tiny, and I know it takes everything in her to show appreciation to me of all people. “In the tub and out there. You saved my life.”

  “Wasn’t the first time.” I pull my eyes away as I deliver the words. Not because I want to. But because I have to.

  This is getting too friendly. Too personal. And it needs to end.

  I barely doze off when a sound pulls me from sleep.

  Teeth chattering.

  Eva’s in front of the fireplace, wrapped in my button-down, suit coat, and the sleeping bag, but she’s still somehow a glorified ice cube, apparently. Granted, the fire went out an hour or so ago when the last log let out its final gasp of life. I climbed into the cot not long after.

  “You ok?” I say it to the darkness, unsure if she’s awake or off in dreamland. For all I know, the teeth chattering could be sobs. I hope it’s not. I don’t want t
o go down that path again.

  She finally fell asleep a few hours ago, quitting her pursuit for conversation after my hundredth one-word response. I knew what she was doing. Making nice wouldn’t earn her freedom. It’d only come once the threat was eliminated, and she wouldn’t enjoy the mouthful of pills and booze it’d take to see the outside world again.

  “C-cold,” she stammers.

  “Out of logs.” I’m not exactly toasty myself on the stiff cot with just a blanket. My neck is bent at an awkward angle, and I’d do anything for a fucking pillow right now. Even the cheap, shitty ones that department stores practically beg you to take off their hands.

  She doesn’t reply, but I swear I hear a whimper.

  I flop to my back from my side, running my hands through my hair. This is hell. “You want to come up here?” I don’t want her next to me, but there’s room on the cot, and sleeping side by side might help us both stay warm.

  That gets a bite out of her. A snarl, really. “NO!”

  I chuckle at the horror in her voice. “Am I really that ugly? Sheesh.”

  “No.” Just as soon as the word slips out, she falls quiet, other than the chattering of her teeth.

  I adjust the blanket over my chest. “You sound like one of those wind-up denture toys.”

  “You sound like an asshole.”

  I smile. “Come on. You’re cold. I won’t tell your pop that you have the hots for me.”

  Her sleeping bag scrapes against the floor, no doubt because she’s sitting up in outrage. “I do NOT have the hots for you!”

  “Then what are you afraid of?” I challenge. I hate to admit it, but poking this spitting cobra is my new favorite game.

  “Nothing,” she barks. “I just don’t want to sleep next to a murderous kidnapper.”