Camouflage (Predator and Prey #1) (9 page)

“Balance yourself and just peddle,” he instructed gruffly. “Don’t think too hard or you’ll fall. Push off hard, steer straight, and don’t stop peddling.”

“Got it,” I said enthusiastically.

“I’ll hold onto you for a bit but then I’ll let go,” he warned.

“Don’t. I don’t want your help,” I snapped.

“Look, Red,” he said, indignant.

“Stop calling me that!” I argued. “I’ve got it.”

I pushed off without warning and pedaled hard. I held on tightly to the handlebars and felt a sharp high as the breeze sifted through my hair. Over confident, I failed to balance and I fell on my side the first ten seconds then cradled my arm that was full of embedded rocks.

“Shit,” I heard behind me. “I told you I would hold on.” I turned to admit defeat but Laz simply wiped the dust off of me and picked up the bike. “Get back on.”

“No,” I said quickly. My arm was burning and I was sure I was bleeding.

“Hmph,” he said defiantly. “Didn’t picture you as a chicken shit. It’s a scratch, Red. You want to ride a bike, here’s your chance.” I didn’t need to look at him to see he was disappointed. I was crushed. Taking a deep breath, I made my decision and reseated on the bike.

I didn’t wait for Laz to react and took off again on my own, but before I could get my first push out, Laz stopped me by gripping the bars and the back of my seat.

“Hardheaded or stupid, you can’t be both,” he snapped. “Hardheaded will get you your way sometimes but stupid will get you hurt. Which one are you?”

Without hesitation, I answered. “Hardheaded.” Smiling into the darkness, I pushed hard on the peddle, ripping myself from his grip. That time I made it almost thirty seconds before falling, but when I got back up, I made it to the end of the road. I didn’t need to see Laz’s face or even hear his congratulations to know somewhere at the opposite of the dark road he was smiling.

Jumping in my seat at the horn incessantly sounding behind me, I turned onto the highway as the car blew past me, still blaring their horn with a friendly one-finger salute. I shook thoughts away of anything Lazarus, but not before I noted that I was no longer just dreaming about him. He was in my thoughts again, invading my days. I turned the radio up and stopped at the next light, turning the rearview toward me, expecting to see the bleach covered eleven year old with bright, frizzy red hair. The woman in front of me was perfectly put together, her now dark auburn hair sleekly knotted at the top of her head, perfectly applied lipstick, and aviator shades covered any telltale sign of her age.

I’m not there and he’s not here.

Irony struck then as a biker crossed the walk in front of me. Deciding I needed a drink as the sun faded, I turned into my condo prepared to dine seaside and quench my thirst. Walking into my home, I set my alarm and out of new habit watched as it remained armed. Two steps into my living room, I froze as the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. It was too late for me to get out of the condo. I lunged for my curio cabinet, taking out my .38mm. It wasn’t my gun of choice, but it would do in a pinch. I crept toward my bedroom, my cell phone in hand, as I surveyed the house. If someone was waiting for me, they were aware I was here. Creeping closer toward my bedroom, I stopped at the noise of water falling.

The shower.

It was probably a distraction. Turning quickly into my bedroom, prepared to shoot and ask questions later, I saw it was clear and nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the voice.

“If you are going to use the .38 on me, you might want to make sure your aim isn’t off. Bullet wounds just anger me. Then again, you like me angry.”

I noted the suitcase next to my nightstand and sighed in relief as I let the gun trail to my hip then turned to see the source of the noise, gloriously naked through the shower glass. Putting the gun on the counter, I crossed my arms.

“You will never figure it out, so give up,” he mused, his beautiful ass on full display as he soaped his hands and I fumed over his security breach. “Though I have to admit, it took a while to get through this new one,” he murmured, crossing his hands over his chest to his thick arms to rinse the soap away. The man was huge, and on full display. I could see every indention, every perfect, God given carving on the surface of him. I was entranced at the hard muscles of his back, his full rounded tight ass, thick thighs and the deep crease of his muscled calves. “So, how have you been?” He turned to me with a dazzling white smile, the water running through his dark hair and outlining his exotic features so beautifully I had to fight to keep my wits about me.

“Last time I spoke, I scared you away. You sure you won’t take offense to anything I say?” I smarted, giving him attitude. An attitude I swore I would try to keep in check the next time one or both of us was naked and in close proximity.

Fear was something I held onto dearly to protect and remind myself that I was still alive, and yet even with a second security breach, it struck me I wasn’t afraid of him.

“You should be,” he said smoothly as I let my eyes wander to where his hands roamed.

“Get out of my head, Jesus,” I pleaded, throwing my shades on the counter. I waited patiently for him to speak as he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, the scent of his soap and steam wafting through the air. Sex clenching, he moved past me to grab a towel and I moved aside.

My mouth refused to keep its words. “Clearly you enjoy seeing me irritated.”

“Women always play dumb to what they agree to with a cock buried deep inside them,” he mused, wiping his chest then starting on his legs.

“I know nothing about you.” Digging in, I stood my ground. “I’m fine with your damn rules but this is invasion of privacy.”

“You have three more guns in the house,” he said without hesitation. “I am a man who has to be aware of his surroundings. That is not something I am willing to stay curious about.”

“Ask,” I hissed as he pushed past me, wrapping the towel around his waist.

“It is not that simple, Taylor.” He pulled his suitcase from the floor and opened it, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt. He looked up at me. “Your dress will do.”

Raising my brow, I turned my head in a ‘come again’ gesture. “Your clothes ...they will do.”

“Oh, thank you,” I said, using my southern accent heavily as I placed my hand on my chest.

He put his hands on his hips to mock me. It looked ridiculous and I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me. He smiled and took my breath. “I’m guessing bitchy doesn’t look good on me, either.” I narrowed my eyes as his smile deepened. “I could still grab that gun and piss you off,” I mused, unable to stop the smile that crept across my face.

“You could, but would you not rather find out what I have planned for you tonight?” His accent was so thick, his voice deep. This strange, beautiful, foreign man was tickling my senses, dizzying me and making my heart beat a little faster. So, without hesitation, I answered, “Yes.”

I asked Daniello for a moment and decided I needed my own shower. I picked up his soap and took a huge whiff as my eyes darted through the glass doors to make sure he didn’t see. It smelled divine and I couldn’t place it. It was masculine but fresh with a hint of what I thought was mint. I dropped it when I heard his voice.

“I brought you a gift, you ungrateful bitch,” he joked from the kitchen, his accent battering the words.

“Sucker,” I joked back as if we had been doing this routine for years. Maybe he had. Maybe it was his norm. I admitted to myself then I had no idea what territory we were in. This was completely out of the norm for me.

“You should know this is my last attempt at gift giving,” he said, much too far away. I made quick work of changing into a casual sundress and wedge heels, applied light makeup, and twisted my wet hair into a tight bun.

I joined Daniello in the kitchen as I saw he had a bottle of wine poured and handed me a glass.

I took it with a polite thank you and sipped it eagerly to calm my nerves. Fucking him would be easier than casual conversation. As usual, he caught on quickly.

“Relax.” He nodded at my glass. “What do you think?”

“It’s delicious, thank you,” I said, taking another sip.

“Taylor, you are lying,” he whispered.

“No, I’m not.” Softening my tone, I tried to raise my enthusiasm. “It’s really good. Is this my gift?”

Daniello sighed and began to laugh softly while he shook his head in exasperation, and took my glass from me. “Thirteen year old award winning bottle from the vineyard,” he scorned still amused. “Taylor, what do you like to drink?”

“Wine, this is—”

“Bullshit, a lie,” he snapped, setting his glass down. I couldn’t help my smile with the way his accent slaughtered the words. What came out sounded like bowel shit. I chuckled as he narrowed his eyes.

“There is only one way to solve this mystery,” Daniello said, nodding in agreement with himself.

The man was strange. Maybe he cheered for himself daily. Maybe he was a full-fledged team: the player, the referee, and the scorekeeper. I laughed harder as he drug me out of the living room and I escaped his grip to run back to the counter and sip the wine again. “Yep,” I confirmed, wrinkling my nose as he looked back at me, hopeful. “Tastes like shit.”

It may have been a growl that erupted from him as he pushed me through the front door and waited for me to lock up.

“By all means,” I prompted, gesturing toward the door.

“Taylor,” he sighed.

“What?” I said innocently. “Be a dear and lock up for me.” Turning without looking back, I made my way toward the SUV. I heard Daniello mumbling in the background. I hopped in the back of the SUV, greeting Rocco who refused to give me anything other than a nod in return. I felt loose and alive and was positive the wine had everything to do with it.

“That settles it,” Daniello said sternly, “no more gifts.”

“Fine by me.” I gave him a wink and nodded to my front door. He rolled his eyes. “Rocco.”

Rocco pulled away from the curb sharply and I clung to my seat. Daniello was opposite of me as he took in my dress.

“You are beautiful tonight,” he said appreciatively. I felt the heat of his compliment. My whole adult life, I’d gotten attention from men. Some had openly gawked at me and I knew the power of sex, but when Daniello complimented me, it mattered. I realized then it was because he was so beautiful, his words were made more powerful. I thought it ironic.

Beauty is power, money is power, and though in his eyes I had both, with him I felt a little weak.

Shifting in my seat, I changed the subject. “So what are your plans?”

“They have changed,” he said with a shrug.

“Not my fucking mouth again?” I said, testing him.

“Always,” he replied, his tongue dragging out the word.

“So you said some of you was Italian. What is the rest of you?”
A harmless question and not too personal.

“My father is half-Spanish and Italian, my mother Egyptian.”

“Which makes you a mutt,” I joked. He didn’t like my joke.

Shit.

“Sorry,” I offered.

“What is a mutt?” I froze, unable to form words. It sounded much worse in explanation than it did in jest. I stalled.

“I grew up in Italy and took leave in Egypt, so I do not understand all of your American slang. What is a mutt?” Fiery eyes confronted me as I dug my fingers into the seat and crossed my legs.

“It’s a dog of mixed breed,” I muttered, trying to hide the fear in my voice. “It’s perfectly acceptable to say in jest, um, when you are joking ...It wasn’t meant—”

Before I could get the words out, I was snatched by my arms and pulled forward. I landed on Daniello, who was ready for me as he pushed me beneath him on the seat he was just sitting in and cupped my face roughly.

“Shut the fuck up, Taylor,” he growled before his lips slammed into mine. I moaned loudly as his kiss disintegrated thought, disintegrated space and time, and lured me into a desperate state for more. I was lost as I clutched him to me as tightly as I could and pressed my angry hard nipples against his chest as he stroked me with his tongue, tasting, sucking and fucking my entire world up. I was completely wrapped in him, my body begging for more as his hand slid up my dress and stroked over my lavender lace panties. Lightly, I pushed my hips up, needing more.

“Yes,” he whispered, licking his lips and eyeing me as he pulled me up to sit next to him.

The car stopped and I gave Daniello a curious stare. How long had we been kissing?

Daniello adjusted his ready cock and no amount of it could cover his arousal. Rocco opened the door and I took his hand and stepped out. We were at The Boathouse, a restaurant I wasn’t familiar with but had heard of for good dining. I looked to Rocco who was whispering Arabic at Daniello, drawing the conclusion Rocco was a mutt as well.

I walked away, knowing it was useless to try to catch any of that conversation. I walked into the restaurant, leaving the two to argue, realizing that Rocco was the same man that Daniello had been arguing with at the club a few weeks back.

Why didn’t he just fire him? Maybe they were family. Still, the relationship seemed strained. I shook off those questions, deeming them intrusive, and held up my finger to the bartender. I was looking over the marsh as the sun began to set. Orange and pink hues wafted throughout the restaurant as diners ignored the obscene beauty that surrounded them in lieu of conversation. I had no issue with my own company as I watched the show unveil in front of me. Snow white heron birds with majestic wings patterned around the water, dipping their wing tips on the cool surface before flying into the mix of grassy marsh and then further to clear water. I hadn’t traveled much in my life, never straying further west than Tennessee before making a beeline for New York after Boston. And there was something to be said for the beauty of the Smoky Mountains, but unfortunately for me, I never got to enjoy those.