Complicate (Deliver 9)

Her photos were out there, her personal information available to anyone who wanted to investigate her. That didn’t matter since she was no longer connected to Cole.

It wouldn’t have mattered if an eleven-year-old assignment hadn’t come back to haunt him.

“You’re still in love with Danni,” she said, her accent straining. “But you came to Texas to stalk Rylee. Who is she to you?”

“Since you were stalking me, you should know this.”

“I think, initially, she was a threat to your friends. While you were digging into her background, she was off in the desert with Tomas, getting stabbed with a hot dog.”

“Stabbed with a hot dog,” he deadpanned.

“His hot dog. It’s a fitting analogy, given your diet over the past month.”

“You’re a twisted bitch.” His nonchalant tone made her smile.

“I’m right about Rylee. Whatever her connection was to you and your friends, it was personal. You wouldn’t have returned to the states, otherwise.”

She wasn’t wrong, but he kept his face unexpressive.

“You haven’t been in the country for seven years.” She raised a brow.

Not true. He’d visited on three different occasions. Day trips, in and out. Evidently, they weren’t watching him closely enough.

Her thumb trailed along his bottom lip, her eyes locked on the movement. “Where have you been all this time?”

“Enjoying retirement.”

“You might’ve retired from a legitimate career, but I know you’re working with the Colombian cartel. You’ve made a name for yourself, Cole Hartman. How does it feel to be notorious in the criminal underworld?”

That was the intel she had on him? The gossip of crime lords and traffickers? He’d put most of those rumors out there himself. All smoke and mirrors to embellish the truth, incite fear, and mislead enemies away from what he was actually doing.

She had no idea he was part of a vigilante group or that his earlier career was in an organization that no one knew existed. That meant she didn’t have connections in the intelligence sectors. So how did she have access to those high-tech bugs?

“Who do you work for?” He nipped at her finger on his lip.

She yanked her hand back. “Tell me who bought—”

“No. I’m not going to tell you what you want to know, and you’re not going to let me go. We’re at an impasse, Lydia.” He flexed his thigh beneath her pert ass. “How long have I been here?”

“Thirty-one days.”

“How much time do you have left to complete the assignment?”

“Enough.”

“There’s always a deadline.” He made a tsking sound. “Something has to give.”

“You.” Her lashes lowered, fanning over porcelain cheekbones before lifting to expose the force of her magnetic glare. “You have to give.”

“When I don’t, you’ll take. Am I right?” He glanced at his restraints, his vulnerable position. “How much are you willing to take? How far down this dark hole are you willing to go?”

How evil are you, Lydia?

“All the way.” She slid off his lap and opened the button on his jeans. Then the zipper. Her eyes found his, and she yanked on the wet denim.

His stomach coiled. His skin grew hot, and his pulse took off at a sprint.

Enduring the soapy caress of her hands below his waist would be the absolute best and worst thing that could happen. It needed to happen. They needed to get personal and intimate and fucking filthy together, so he could break her open and fuck the stubbornness out of her.

At the same time, he had to remember that she was using the same strategy on him. She intended to ply him with her body, and all the while, he would let her believe she was the one in control.

Remaining aloof, he gave her no reaction as she wrestled with the heavy wet fabric. Her tits rose with shallow inhalations, the gorgeous swells testing the confines of her corset, testing him.

He didn’t move or lift his weight to help, but that didn’t stop her tenacious hands. Keeping a firm hold on his waistband, she wrenched the jeans down his legs and off, exposing the hardening evidence of his arousal.

Yeah, his fucking cock was excited.

Seven years of built-up excitement.

Physically, he was ready and raring to go.

Emotionally, he would never be up for it. He missed his girl. He just…

Christ, he deeply, unendurably missed her.

He shoved down all thoughts of Danni, concealing them behind a mask of indifference. But he couldn’t hide the erection. It jutted upward like a damn flagpole, begging for soft hands, a hot mouth, and a wet-ass pussy.

She didn’t spare him a glance and instead directed her attention to his largest and oldest tattoo. The black snake wrapped around his thigh from knee to hip, its head angled toward his foot with shimmering scales inked in meticulous detail.

“What’s the story on this?” She traced a finger along the curve of the serpent’s spine, making him harder, hotter.

“I’ll tell you about the snake if you tell me about the swallow.”