by Elle Kennedy
Isabel thought about it for a moment. “Yes. I want kids.”
“Good. Me too.”
A little laugh slipped out. “Is it weird that we’re matter-of-factly going over these details? Like this is nothing more than a business arrangement?”
Trevor grabbed her hand and brought it underneath the thin blanket covering their lower bodies. “Trust me, there’s nothing businesslike about it. This is all pleasure, sweetheart.”
Heat rippled through her when she felt his heavy erection. His hospital johnny meant there was no barrier between her hand and that impressive cock, but Isabel found the strength to slide her hand out from under the blanket.
“You’re recovering from surgery,” she said sternly. “Sexual shenanigans are forbidden.”
“Says who? Hasn’t anyone ever told you that sex is the best medicine?”
She propped up on one elbow and kissed his cheek. “You’re two hours out of surgery, Trev. You’re not getting any action for at least twenty-four more.”
“You’re a sadist.” He shot her a crooked grin. “But I still love you.”
She still wasn’t used to hearing those three words come out of his mouth. And every time he said them, a part of her wanted to ask, why? Why did he love her? Why didn’t he care about all the baggage she brought to the table?
But she was making an effort to push those old insecurities aside. She’d meant every word she’d said in the back of that car—she wasn’t leaving him. Nope, not going anywhere.
Her worst fear had been realized when Trevor almost bled to death in her arms. She had a man who loved her. A strong, kind, incredible man who loved her, and she was going to be a coward about it? She was going to push that amazing man away because she was scared of getting hurt again?
Well, losing Trevor tonight would have hurt. It would have hurt more than anything.
Not having Trevor in her life, she’d discovered, was the most terrifying thing of all. And it was well within her power to avoid that scary fate—all she had to do was open her heart.
“Just so you know, I’m gonna try hard to stop being such an overprotective ass,” Trevor said, interrupting her thoughts.
She arched one eyebrow. “Really? Because it was beginning to seem like Caveman Trevor was here to stay.”
“Oh, he’ll definitely be making an appearance or two.” The humor in his eyes died. “This whole time . . . I’ve been freaking out, scared I was going to lose you. I hated knowing you were putting yourself in danger and that if something happened to you, I might not be able to save you. Same way I couldn’t save Gina.”
“Trev . . .”
“No, let me finish.” Shame filled his expression. “It was borderline disrespectful on my part, Iz. You don’t need me to save you, and you certainly don’t need me breathing down your neck during a job. You can protect yourself.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “You do realize I would’ve been shot if you hadn’t jumped in front of Lorenzo’s gun, right?”
“I know, and it would’ve killed me to see you lying in this bed instead of me, but I need to accept that your job can be just as dangerous as mine. And as I recall, you took a bullet for me in Bogotá, so if anything, I was simply repaying the favor.”
The sincerity ringing in his voice made her chest tighten with emotion.
“So, yeah,” he finished awkwardly, “I promise not to be such a controlling ass all the time.”
“Well, I promise not to be such a coward.”
“You could never be a coward. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, sweetheart.”
“And what am I?” came a sardonic voice. “Chopped liver?”
Their gazes moved to the doorway, where Noelle had appeared like an apparition. In her black leather pants, off-the-shoulder sweater, and knee-high boots, she marched into the room like she owned it. Isabel didn’t bother asking how Noelle had managed to get into the ICU when it was reserved only for family members.
“You? You’re the scariest woman I’ve ever met,” Trevor said drily. “How’s that?”
Noelle smirked. “It’s perfect.”
With a laugh, Isabel sat up. “You taking off now?” she asked her boss.
“Shortly. I came to remind Callaghan of the little deal we made back at the ranch.”
Isabel’s shoulders tensed, and she noticed Trevor’s jaw doing the same. No mistaking what Noelle meant. She was cashing in on the carte blanche favor she’d weaseled out of Trevor.
With wary brown eyes, Trevor slid to a sitting position. He winced as he got settled, a sight that infuriated Isabel. Damn Noelle for coming here and interrupting his recovery.
“So what do you want?” he asked darkly.
Noelle sauntered over to the foot of the bed and tapped her bloodred fingernails on the railing there. “I haven’t decided yet, but I’m sure something suitable will pop up in the future.”
Isabel saw Trevor’s eyes cloud over when the blonde did not elaborate.
“By the way,” Noelle went on, “I can’t say I approve of this blessed union, but clearly Isabel has made her choice and that choice is you, Callaghan. So I can either kill you, in which case I’d be losing one of my best operatives because Isabel would definitely quit—”
Isabel snorted. Quit? She’d claw Noelle’s black heart out if the woman went after Trevor.
“—or I can suck it up and let this happen,” Noelle concluded.
“How considerate of you,” Trevor said sarcastically.
“I thought so.” She smirked. “Isabel’s one of my mine—you understand what that means, right?”
He rolled his eyes. “It means if I hurt her, you know a hundred ways to kill a man, seven of which involve the testicles.”
Noelle was practically beaming. “He’s learning.” The blonde glanced at Isabel. “Oh, and feel free to take the Vermont chalet. You’ve always liked it. Callaghan grew up in the mountains, so he’ll like it too. And that way I’ll know where to find him.”
With that, Noelle turned on her heel and strolled out of the room.
“That woman fucking scares me,” Trevor remarked.
“Me too.”
“What did she mean, take the Vermont chalet?”
Isabel shook the cobwebs of disbelief from her head. “I think she just gave us her house in Vermont.”
“Are you serious?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. That’s sure as hell what it sounded like, though.”
She cuddled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he stroked her hair. A comfortable silence settled between them, and it was several minutes before Trevor spoke again.
“I love you, Isabel,” he said thickly.
Her heart skipped a beat. “I love you too.”
“With that said . . . I don’t ever want to live in a house that belongs to Noelle.”
“I don’t know, Trev, it’s a really nice house . . .”
“Yeah, full of booby traps and cameras and little robots that pop out of the closets at night and murder you in your sleep.”
She burst out laughing. “Good point. So I guess that brings us back to the question that started this discussion . . . where will we live?”
“Wherever we want.”
“And what will we do again?” she teased.
His gorgeous eyes twinkled. “Keep working. Be together. Get married.”
She frowned at him. “You forgot the loving-each-other part.”
Trevor’s lips were warm as he brushed them over hers in a sweet kiss. “Trust me, sweetheart, I didn’t forget.”
• • •
“How cute. Could it be? Does the heartless killer actually have”—Jim Morgan offered a mock gasp as Noelle stepped out of Trevor’s room— “a heart?”
Setting her jaw, Noelle brushed past him and continued along the fluorescent-lit corridor. She couldn’t wait to get out of here. Hospitals were too damn bright. Always left her feeling far too exposed.
Jim fell into step with h
er. “You’re really not going to explain that grand gesture you just made to the happy couple?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she answered coolly. “And by the way, eavesdropping is punishable by death in some countries.”
She felt those blue eyes piercing her. Probing.
Gritting her teeth, she jammed the elevator button and waited. Ignored the man at her side.
“I got your message,” he said gruffly.
She stiffened.
“Wasn’t that a blast from the past.” He lowered his voice. “I didn’t think you remembered that number.”
Slowly, Noelle met his eyes. “Like I could ever forget.”
Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved.
The elevator doors dinged open, breaking the spell.
Noelle strode into the car. She expected Jim to walk away and head back to Callaghan’s room, but he marched right into the elevator with her.
The doors closed.
“So listen . . .” He shifted awkwardly.
Noelle masked her surprise. It was incredibly rare to see Jim let down his guard this way.
“Thanks for stepping up when I was out of touch. For letting my crew use your safe house. I owe you one.”
“You certainly do.”
He chuckled. “When can I expect you to collect?”
“Whenever I damn well please.” She paused. Curiosity got the best of her. “Where were you, Jim?”
“The Himalayas.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Why do you think, Noelle?”
It took her a moment to make sense of those pointed words. When understanding dawned, her hands trembled with rage. “You’re still looking for her.”
“I never fucking stopped.”
Bitterness whipped through her body like loose cables being flung around by the wind. She stared into his familiar blue eyes, saw the anger in them, the shared resentment, the spark of triumph.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
“Right back atcha, baby.”
Their eyes locked.
Noelle almost went for the knife in her boot.
The elevator had nearly reached the lobby.
“Except,” Jim continued with the smug cock of his head, “you don’t hate me at all, do you, baby? That’s just what you like to tell yourself.”
Her nostrils flared. “I—”
The doors opened with a chime.
Jim Morgan stalked out of the elevator and walked away.
Epilogue
One month later
“Why did we stop?” Renee Beaumont fought a spark of irritation as she glared at the bodyguard seated across from her in the limo.
Looking confused, Marcel reached for the gun holstered to his hip. “I don’t know. I’ll go talk to the driver.”
As the burly man got out of the limo, Renee glanced out the tinted window, frowning when she realized they were nowhere near the private airport where the Beaumont jet awaited her arrival. Rather, they were on a deserted stretch of road with no structures or humans in sight.
She ignored a jolt of fear and reached for her purse, but when she slid her hand inside it in search of her derringer, she discovered the little gun was gone.
Her pulse sped up, her heart beating even faster when Marcel didn’t return. Something was wrong.
Had the people who’d killed Lorenzo tracked her down?
No. No, that wasn’t possible. They had no reason to come after her. She was nothing more than the widow of a man who’d been gunned down during a bungled robbery. That was the official story—after she’d generously paid off the police captain, of course.
The partition between Renee and the driver suddenly began to lower, bringing a rush of relief.
“It’s about time,” she grumbled. “Can you please explain why you decided to stop in the middle of—”
The question died on her lips when she found herself staring at an unfamiliar woman with blond hair, blue eyes, and a gun.
“Who are you?” Renee burst out. “Where’s Marcel? Where is my driver?”
The woman carelessly waved the gun and spoke in flawless French. “They’re around.”
Anger spiraled through her and seized her insides. “Who are you?” she repeated. “How dare you hold that weapon on me?”
The woman just chuckled.
“I don’t know what you want, you stupid bitch, but I’m calling the police,” Renee snapped.
As she made a grab for her purse, the blonde laughed with unrestrained delight.
“If your derringer isn’t in there, do you really think your phone will be?”
Renee experienced another flicker of trepidation. “Who are you?” she asked for the third time.
“I’m Isabel’s boss.”
She blinked in confusion. “Who is Isabel?”
Displeasure flashed in those blue eyes.
Deadly eyes.
“Oh, right,” the woman said coolly. “You probably know her as Paloma. Paloma Martin.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Renee’s arm shot out toward the door handle.
The door was locked.
She jammed her finger on the UNLOCK button, but nothing happened.
She was trapped.
The blonde laughed again. “So you do know who I’m referring to. I thought you would, seeing as you funded your husband’s search for Paloma. And Julian, of course. Lorenzo wanted both his father’s killers dead, didn’t he, Renee?”
She didn’t bother feigning ignorance. “And rightfully so,” she replied in a frigid voice. “My husband lost not only his father but his empire, thanks to them.”
“Ah, the empire. I figured you’d bring that up. It’s why you married him, after all.” The blonde slanted her head. “But you had your own empire—what did you need Blanco for? He was ruined, in hiding. Seems like you’d have been better off spending your daddy’s money and staying away from vermin like Blanco.”
“Money,” Renee spat out. “That’s all it was. Just money.”
“But you wanted the power, huh?” Those blue eyes sparkled. “I totally get that, hon. Power is a very useful asset.”
“I was deprived of it my entire life,” Renee muttered. “My father was perfectly content with letting me work behind the scenes, but when it came to taking the helm? Oh no, he needed to find a prospective suitor for me. A man to run the business.”
She had no idea why she was telling the woman all of this—the woman who was pointing a gun at her—but the details kept spilling out. Her bitterness thickened the air in the limo, threatening to choke her.
“When I met Lorenzo, I knew he was the right man to elevate me to where I wanted to be. My father had someone else in mind, but I convinced him Lorenzo was the better choice.”
“And you convinced Lorenzo to regain his rightful place at the top of his father’s empire.”
Renee smirked. “Of course. When Lorenzo came to my father for help, he was content to live life as Tomas Meiro, to hide away and let the vultures pick at his former empire. But I showed him the error of his ways, of course.”
“Of course.” The lethal stranger looked oddly pleased, as if she approved of Renee’s course of action.
For some inexplicable reason, Renee felt a spark of satisfaction. Nobody else had even suspected she was the one pulling her husband’s strings. Nobody thought her capable of it. But this woman . . . this stranger . . . she recognized Renee as a force to be reckoned with.
The moment of kinship, however, faded fast when the woman cocked her weapon, an ominous click that echoed in the limo. “And were you the one who convinced Lorenzo to hunt down his father’s killers?”
“No, that was one of his conditions.” Renee’s lips tightened. “He refused to reveal himself to his enemies and reclaim his empire until the Martins were taken care of. So I did everything I could to help him find them. The sooner they were taken care of, the sooner my husband and I could be what we were meant to be.
”
“And what’s that?” the woman mocked.
“The most powerful couple in the world.”
There was a soft chuckle. “Lofty ambitions. I approve.” A sigh now. “Unfortunately, no matter how much I respect your aspiration to rule the world, I can’t overlook the disheartening fact that you tried to kill one of my girls.”
The fear returned, constricting her throat.
“With that said”—the woman tossed her golden hair over her shoulder and adjusted her grip on the silenced weapon—“do you have any last words?”
Renee’s cheeks hollowed in anger. “Fuck you.”
“I figured it’d be something along those lines. Anyway . . . nighty-night, Renee. I’m sure we’ll meet in hell one day.”
And then the blonde pulled the trigger.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next
heart-pounding novel in Elle Kennedy’s Killer Instincts series,
MIDNIGHT PURSUITS
Available soon from Signet Eclipse
Nothing beat a cup of steaming-hot coffee in the dead of winter, at least in Ethan Hayes’s humble opinion. As he stepped onto the enormous cedar deck of the chalet-style house, Ethan was unbelievably grateful for the heat of the ceramic mug seeping into his cold fingers. February in Vermont meant biting-cold temperatures, buckets of snow, and frigid wind, but he wasn’t complaining about his surroundings. The isolated house and surrounding area were so idyllic, he’d be a total moron to find fault in it.
He approached the wooden railing and gazed at the snowcapped peaks of the mountains in the distance. White mist shrouded the jagged tips, giving off a ghostly vibe, and dozens of feet below the deck, a sheet of pure white snow covered the hills and valleys that made up the landscape. Tall pines jutted proudly from the land, branches swaying in the early-morning breeze.
A postcard. That’s what it looked like, and Ethan found it hard to believe that a woman as cold and deadly as Noelle had ever lived in such a beautiful slice of heaven. Then again, she’d given the house to Trevor Callaghan and Isabel Roma without batting an eye, so clearly the blond assassin hadn’t been too attached to the place. He just hoped she didn’t spring a surprise visit on him while he was here—Noelle made him damn nervous, and he had no desire to spend any quality time with the woman.