(possible sequel to Undercover Stranger)
“And now you’re going to tell me why you’re here and how you came to be in this state.”
She knew it was a command as much as a question. “Yes.” Sasha took a deep breath and tried to remember the words she’d rehearsed. “You probably don’t remember, but when you visited Jamie at our house, I was pregnant.”
“I remember.”
Did he really? “I didn’t know that Jamie had gambled, that we owed so much. When I told him we were expecting, he panicked. A baby would cost money we didn’t have. So he agreed to participate in some sort of…operation for the Mafia. For your former boss. When it was over, they were convinced he took money from them. In the last three years, I’ve seen no evidence of that. I looked. God knows I did. I can’t find anything.”
“He took it. I was at your house that day to deliver a friendly warning. Before I could deliver on the threat, I found myself behind bars.” Stefan stroked his strong jaw, thinking. “So The Family is determined that you pony up the money or she’s going to turn you into fish bait, like your husband.”
“Emma, my daughter, first.” Her voice broke. “If I don’t produce the money three days after her murder, then me.”
Something flickered across Stefan’s face, so quickly she couldn’t tell what it was, what it meant.
“How do you know I don’t work for them anymore?”
Sasha paused. Oh, no. She’d assumed he had severed ties with crime and that criminal family. When she’d come here tonight, Sasha had known she was walking into the wolf’s lair. Was that even more true than she thought?
“I—I just thought…”
“You thought I wouldn’t be friendly with people who let me go to prison for their crime?” He shrugged. “I didn’t murder Mr. Casale, as you probably read in the newspapers, but before someone capped him, I was Nicholas DiStefano’s favorite assassin. I had prison time coming.”
Sasha held her breath. He’d killed—and barely blinked as he admitted it. Had she been so exhausted, so hopeful her luck had changed, that she’d overlooked the obvious danger? God, how did she get out of here and still save her daughter? Think, think!
Darting to her feet, she charged out of the kitchen and down the hall. Emma. She had to reach her little girl, pluck her out of bed and get out of here—somehow—before Stefan Bocelli could stop her and turn her over to the people wanting to kill her baby.
In seconds, she heard the doom of pounding footsteps behind her. Oh, God. Oh, God! He was going to catch her before she and Emma could escape—
Suddenly, he clamped hard fingers around wrist and pulled, yanking her backward. She nearly tripped and fell. Instead, Stefan broke her fall with the massive width of his chest.
Before he could get a better grip on her, she started fighting, clawing and kicking, aiming for his genitals. He easily dodged her, clamped his thighs around hers, captured both wrists in his hands and took her to the ground.
He lowered himself on top of her.
Sasha tried to fight with every bit of her strength. She was nearly a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, and he had gravity on his side. Panic clawed her insides. She couldn’t breathe.
No!
She’d failed Emma, who was barely more than a baby. She didn’t deserve to die because her father had been weak and her mother not worldly enough to protect her.
Sasha kept fighting, long after Stefan had her pinned.
“Stop. Stop!” With long legs and strong arms, Stefan suddenly held her immobile.
Panting, her breath quivering, Sasha looked up into his endless brown eyes. She expected to see laughter, triumph, anticipation.
She saw regret.
So he wasn’t looking forward to killing her and Emma. That wouldn’t stop him.
Sasha wasn’t above begging, not if it would save Emma. “Please…”
“Shhh. You and your daughter are safe with me. I’m won’t let the hit men near you.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“You don’t, not any more than I know if you’re telling me the truth that you don’t know about the money. But you want protection, I gather, so it looks like we have to trust each other.”
Could she afford to trust him? The answer was, she already knew she couldn’t afford not to. Better the devil she didn’t know than the one she did.
She gave him a shaky nod. “I need help. Protection. I can’t run, not anymore. They’re getting closer. Emma is sick …”
“And you’re exhausted.”
Sasha didn’t try to deny it. “I don’t have any money to offer you…”
He hesitated. “Do I look like I need it?”
With his fabulously expensive leather jacket and huge house? “No.”
“No,” he confirmed.
Even as Sasha’s mind raced, she became aware of the inferno of heat Stefan put off. It sunk through her damp clothes, down under her skin. For the first time in weeks, she felt warm.
Maybe it was a good omen.
“I could do your house and your laundry. I cook—”
“I’ve hired those out already.”
Now what? He didn’t need money or her help around the house. Her only other talent lie in scrapbooking, and she seriously doubted he’d want a tome commemorating the time he spent in prison. But she had to give him something. Relying purely on his good favor would be too dangerous.
“What can I give you in return for your help?”
Above her, he shifted, grimaced. Confusion buzzed through her brain…until she felt his erection, lengthening, solidifying, right between her legs.
Sasha sucked in a breath. Even through her jeans and his, she could tell he was large—much larger than Jamie had been. She hadn’t had sex—or any contact with a man—since the week before Jamie’s murder, and her neglected body didn’t fail to notice that he was all man. The swarm of his musky scent rippled across her senses. His chocolate eyes melted with heat, pouring over her like liquid seduction.
The truth, the price he was going to extract from her, was all in his eyes. He wanted her in his bed.