Searching for Beautiful (Searching For 3)

"Fuck." The vicious curse erupted from his sexy mouth. His warm breath hit her cheek. She hated when he got pissy. "You better remember this tomorrow."

"Huh?"

Suddenly, he loomed over her, pressing her back into the ground, his hips cradling hers. Oh wow. His body heat scorched through her wet clothes and her bare legs automatically opened in a primeval urge to surrender. He planted both hands on either side of her head and lowered his mouth. What was he doing? His delicious scent rose to her nostrils, and her hands found their way to grip his hips, his damp skin sleek and muscled beneath her touch.

Another curse escaped. He seemed grumpy and torn as he stared at her, inches away from her mouth, and Gen blinked a few times because his head kind of floated around, and her body screamed for more contact, please, just a bit more, and then he muttered, "I'm gonna prove you're good at this kissing thing, okay?" and his mouth took hers.

She whimpered, literally whimpered, at the amazing feel of those ultrasoft, smooth lips coasting over hers with an expert grace and blistering heat that made her toes curl. Oh, alcoholic visions were so yummy! Wolfe, her best friend and confidant, was kissing her, and it was too good to be real, so it had to be some sort of psychedelic mirage from too much Sam Adams.

Her mind spun, tried to make sense of it, and gave up.

Her body roared forward and seized control.

Hips arched, nails digging into his lower back, she surrendered to the sensations rocketing in her core and spreading like fire through her veins. He kissed her for a while, until she was a soft, gooey mess beneath him, and then his tongue parted her lips and surged in.

She opened her mouth and met him halfway, crazed for the full taste and essence of him. His tongue pushed, stroked, and explored, taking her deep. She moaned and reached for more. God, she wanted more, the taste of citrusy lemon and male hunger pulling her under. He grew hard between her thighs and she nipped at his bottom lip, sucking gently, and he muttered something foul, deflowering her mouth like she was a virgin asking to be ravished and taken and fucked.

Time stood still. It was too short, it was endless, it was everything. Her head spun, her breasts grew achy and tight, and she was so wet he could've slipped between her thighs and slid home without a protest. She made a sound deep in her throat when he slowly pulled away, the wet slide of his tongue over hers bestowing one final taste.

She blinked. Blistering heat and fury and lust mingled in those blue eyes. She felt eaten alive, scoured raw, and Gen shook as the solid foundation underneath her shifted and broke open.

"Are you listening, Gen?"

She couldn't speak, so she managed a nod.

"You're an amazing kisser. I could've fucked you right here and now and been the happiest guy in the world. A guy has to be dead not to want you. David is a piece of shit. Understood?"

She swallowed. Nodded again.

"Good." He slid off her and she almost cried out at the loss of his heat and pressure. The sky opened and swallowed her up as utter exhaustion suddenly hit her. Turned on, spent, emotions ripped and bleeding, she grabbed for his hand so as not to lose physical contact, and he interwove his fingers with hers and lay back on the dock. Slowly, she relaxed, his presence a bone-deep comfort and something else, something she refused to examine.

Gen gave up and let the blackness take her. But first she said the words.

"I love you, Wolfe."

She slid toward sleep. His response drifted in the sultry air among the chirp of crickets.

"I love you, too, babe."

five

HE'D MADE A huge mistake.

Wolfe kept his hand firmly within hers while she slept. Her words crawled under his skin and embedded into his muscles, veins, heart. He knew, of course, what she meant. She loved him as a friend, a protector, and the one who had rescued her from making a lifetime mistake. Still, he'd only said the words back twice in his life. Once to Sawyer. Once to Julietta.

Never to a woman outside of family.

But he meant it. He did love her. She was more precious than any of his other relationships, and he hoped he hadn't screwed them up by introducing a sexual want that still rattled his dick. The love was deeper and purer than any crap in his past. How many women had uttered those words, when he knew it was only the sex and power and excitement of the encounter? They knew nothing about him. Not their fault. He rarely opened up and was content to keep it on the surface of the physical, with companionship and a few laughs the extra bonus.

Wolfe dragged in a lungful of air. Cleared his mind. When was the last time he'd reacted on impulse? Never. Impulse had no place in the business world or his personal life. Sure, it may be an illusion of control, but it worked for him. He'd been in and out of enough shrinks' offices to know his way around the mental blocks and issues a screwed-up individual created for survival. He hated therapy, but he'd gone for Sawyer because he never wanted his honorary stepfather to wonder if he could've done more. Sawyer had saved him--both literally and figuratively. He had a life he wanted to live because the man he pickpocketed cared enough about him to try and make a difference.

Wolfe shook his head as the past reared up. He'd been living on the streets, and began staking out big luxury hotels like the Waldorf for patsies. Stealing uniforms and pretending to fit in was easy, but he'd picked the wrong mark. Sawyer was street-smart and superrich, and had dragged his ass to the management.

Wolfe remembered the sick fear when he realized he was going to jail. Instead, Sawyer offered him a bargain. Work for him, and he'd stay out of jail. The judge had agreed. The night before Sawyer was about to pick him up, Wolfe realized he was terrified. He didn't want a chance at a life he'd only screw up. He refused to trust anyone anymore, so he'd hurriedly gotten his tat, styled his hair in a bizarre mockery of Johnny Depp, and pierced his face in every way possible.

When Sawyer picked him up, Wolfe waited for him to call off the whole deal.

Sawyer didn't. The man took him to Italy and gave him the opportunity to learn the hotel business. Sawyer built Purity, the luxury hotel chain, beginning in Milan, and Wolfe had learned everything from the ground up. But the man had given him much more than a job and some security. He took him into his life and his heart. When Sawyer finally met and fell in love with Julietta, they both welcomed him and created a family together.

When Sawyer asked him to get a college education so he could eventually run the Purity location in New York City, he'd agreed. The rest of the Conte family took good care of him during his school years, like an adopted family. Who would've known he'd meet the third most important person in his life at a family dinner? Gen treated him like an equal from the first. She cared about the man he was becoming, not the dark, twisted creature he'd lived as in his past. Their friendship bloomed through college and just kept getting stronger.

Gen let out a throaty groan and his thoughts got dragged back to the kiss. He'd only meant to prove a point before he took off to batter the hell out of her ex-fiance. Instead, he got sucked in, forgetting it was a lesson, forgetting they were more than the physical. His instincts kicked in, along with the testosterone, and all he'd been able to concentrate on was the softness of her body underneath his, and her delicious scent that always made him half-drunk. Who else smelled like fresh wildflowers and Ivory soap? He was used to exotic perfumes meant to seduce. Instead, her simplicity beat through her kiss, an honest reaction from her gut that intoxicated him more than any Playboy bunny or supermodel could. The hitch in her breath, the fullness of her breasts, the easy way she'd spread her legs in greeting as if he belonged inside her.

Wolfe gritted his teeth and fought for control. This could never happen again. He'd play it as if they were both drunk, emotionally wrung out, and impulsive. Hell, he'd never even bring it up again. Maybe she wouldn't remember. He'd never forgive himself if any part of their relationship changed or got weird from the kiss.

His tongue dragged over his lower lip and caught her taste. He squeezed his

eyes shut and burned the memory into his brain for safekeeping. For those lonely, horrific nights when he craved something beautiful to help him get through the hours in the dark.

When his breathing was regulated, Wolfe slipped his hand from hers and stood up. She frowned in her sleep and rolled a bit, as if reaching for him. He left the bottles outside, figuring he'd clean up in the morning, and easily scooped her up into his arms. She was a perfect bundle of feminine softness, and her head buried against his chest in complete trust.

His stomach lurched but he managed to carry her to the cabin, get her inside, tuck her carefully into bed, and pull the covers up to her chin. He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. Those pale pink lips quirked upward in a sleepy half smile.

How anyone would want to hurt her was beyond him. Wolfe swore to get to the bottom of that mess and find out what really happened. Definitely some type of abuse. She'd kept her secrets well. Almost as well as he did.

He shut the door, stripped off his clothes, and lay on the mattress. His body twitched with leftover energy and sexual arousal, but eventually the events of the day took their toll.

Sleep settled over him, an uneasy and fickle companion he didn't trust.

VINCENT SOLDANO HATED HIS mother.

Unfortunately, he also loved her, feared her, and would do pretty much anything for a smile or a kind word. He'd learned early when to bother her and when to stay far away. The white powder was king, father, and all things holy. He could deal with the sugarlike substance. The needles. Even the occasional backhanded slaps or screaming sessions.

What scared him was the men.

He shuffled toward the front door, his palm already sweaty against the broken knob. The house was barely a shelter, just a few walls, leaky roof, and endless weeds choking the broken pavement outside. Two windows were taped up. They lived on Happy Street, on a dead end. When he was first learning to read, he thought it was good luck. He figured out quickly it was one of God's bad jokes played just on him.

Vincent stepped into the house. The room was empty. Relief buckled his muscles, so he moved fast. Who knew how long he had before the strangers would troop in and the noises would start? He placed his one book on the folding table and began scouring the refrigerator and cabinets for something to eat. Mama's bedroom door remained tightly shut.

He flicked off the band of cockroaches scuttling in the sink, chugged a glass of water, and found an old granola bar with chocolate chips. Score. He ate it slowly at the table, savoring every bite, and flipped through his math book. He missed school a lot, but when he was able to go he found it easy. Especially anything with numbers. He'd just look at a page, shut his eyes, and then be able to recall the entire thing from memory. He swung his skinny legs, making a note to try and wash up tonight, and then heard the squeak.

He froze. Looked up.

The man stared back at him with a funny grin on his face. "Hey, little dude. Didn't hear you come in."

Fear choked him. He didn't know why. Just realized a few years back that the men were bad, and they wanted to do things that made his stomach hurt. He tried hard to look mean, but he figured it didn't go over well when the man grinned wider and took a few steps closer.

"Where's Mama?"

The man's hair was straight, slicked back, and looked greasy in the few rays of sunlight that poured through the broken window. He was tall, wore jeans and a T-shirt, and had eyes that reminded him of a shark. Like Jaws. Grayish, flat, and kinda cruel.

"Ran to the store. She'll be back soon. You like school?"

Vincent stiffened but pretended he was unafraid. " 'S okay."