He cleared his throat. "Previously, I had someone who wanted the title of wife in a major way. She had something to say every time a job came up."

"Like what?"

"Like, don't go. Let Titan calls go to voicemail. Get a nine-to-fiver. Stuff like that."

"Sounds like she didn't know you."

"Does, doesn't it?" He looked over, almost smiling. His gaze set her insides on fire all over again, catapulting her stomach into cartwheels. He cocked half a grin, flashing that dimple. "You might be the hottest little thing I've ever laid eyes on. Even in that dress."

"What? You don't like my dress?" Flirting was good. Flirting played down how she was unconsciously re-prioritizing major life goals, the fact that Rocco was, at the moment, far more interesting than El Mateperros and whatever started feeding from the bugs they'd just left.

"I do. But, holy hell, woman. That black getup when you're ready to get your badass on? Hot. Covers you head to toe, but leaves nothing to the imagination."

Sex. Completely superficial. She could handle that because it meant she wasn't putting Rocco above El Mateperros-if she could just distract herself enough.

She un-clicked her seatbelt. "That's a pity. Surprises are fun."

"Didn't say you-what are you doing?"

She unclicked his seatbelt and ran her hand along the plain of his chest. Solid wall of brute force. It was a total turn-on. Her tongue ran across her bottom lip, and he was watching her instead of the road.

"Tu me vuelves loca, Rocco." And she would at least get some kind of fix now. Her hand ran over his cock, feeling it thicken through his pants. "And I want to drive you crazy too."

A deep groan vibrated through the Audi. They'd drifted hard to the shoulder, and he righted them on the road. "Yeah, that mission's been accomplished, babe. But-"

His eyelids sank shut as she rubbed his length. He forced one eye open, then the other, dropping his head back against the headrest but trying to watch the road. "Feel free to try any new torture moves you have up your sleeve."

She pulled at his zipper. So slowly. The teeth unhooked one by one and echoed around them like an erotic promise of what was to come.

Rocco shifted in his seat. "Wicked little vixen."

With the zipper down and him raring to go, she slid her hand into his boxers. Strong as steel, thick as a branch, and hot, silky, smooth. She pulled him free.

"God, Caterina." He repositioned himself, his breath catching with the slide of her hand. Her thumb caressed the crown of his cock. "I'm gonna run off the damn road."

"Liam Laird will be with us for a while?"

"Roman?" His head dropped back. "Please don't say my buddy's name with my dick in your hand."

She stroked him. "I'm just trying to get a sense."

"Of?" His voice hitched again when she applied more pressure.

"How much alone time we might have."

"I'd assume next to none."

"Pity." She leaned over, taking just the head of him into her mouth. Her tongue licked and when Rocco groaned, she sucked tight.

"Vicious move." He blew out a breath.

Her teeth teased him lightly, sliding up and down his shaft. Then she trailed her tongue. "I think you can handle it."

A deep rumble escaped his chest. "Not complaining."

"Good." She took him in her mouth again, sucking him deep.

Rocco clenched one hand into her hair, steering the Audi with the other. His hips flexed. "Christ, we're gonna get pulled over."

"Stop?"

"Do. Not. Stop."

She laughed with her mouth still around him.

He groaned. "You're killing me."

Taking him like this had started as a distraction for her, but now...it reaffirmed what she wanted to be distracted from. Desperate hunger filled her. The taste of his flesh, the saltiness of his precum, the sexy masculine sounds he made with each slip of her tongue and curl of her fingers. She loved this.

"Your mouth..." He sounded even rougher, and that urged her on.

Rocco made her want normal like never before. Normal life. Normal man. Maybe even normal love. Roots and a relationship were something she'd only wanted once her search-and-destroy mission was over. But was Roc the type of man she hoped for?

An American? That would be unexpected. Private military type? Not on her most desired qualities list, but she wouldn't have to hide her past from him.

She pulled back, licking, tasting, stroking, exploring, then looked up and lost herself in his eyes, in the pleasure of making him come apart. Completely helpless in her desire, she prayed that this feeling would stay with her. Her hand cupped his sac, dragging her nails lightly over the tight skin. Needing his release, she tormented and tortured, until he was strung so tight she could count the seconds until he climaxed.

His head thumped back against the headrest. Thighs tightening and straining in dress pants, he growled her name, pulsing and throbbing deep in her mouth. Wet warmth came as he lost himself to her, and she swallowed, hungrily, greedily, savoring the power and perfection that was them together.

Erratic breaths and a hand laying haphazardly on her were the only things she noticed. Slowly, she came up, dabbing at her mouth. Everything made sense when she focused on Rocco.

"Game changer." He winked. His lazy smile and sexy dimple hung on his face.

"You've got jokes." But she couldn't hide her smile.

"Nope." He grabbed her hand and kissed it. "But I do have you."

Consider her heart stolen. She had no defenses for that. "I like you."

"Good. Glad you finally admit that." His dark eyes were satisfied and shining. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and blew out, then readjusted and zipped his pants. "We should take more long drives in the countryside I might become a proponent of those 'long walks on the beach' lines you ladies always dream about."

"Pretty sure that's not what that's about."

He gave her a look that would melt a glacier. "Pretty sure I'd go and find out."

Just when the moment couldn't get any better, it flip-flopped and couldn't get any worse. "I grew up on the beach. It's not all that it's cracked up to be."

"Can't be that bad."

She tugged her hand back. "I hate the beach."

He chuckled. "Some guy break your heart beachside?"

Her stomach turned. Her father's screams echoed in her brain even this long after the massacre. "Something like that."

She watched the passing trees and the sad gray sky, and ignored whatever Rocco was saying. An aching heart and a guilty conscience drowned out the rest of the world. If she hadn't asked for her birthday to be on the water. If she had asked for her daddy to stop saving the world for just one day, just long enough to eat cake and play games with her, then her family might be alive. Her throat burned with uncried tears. She pinched the bridge of her nose, willing the tears to evaporate before falling. Instead a memory certain to make it worse rose up. Such bad timing.

"No, daddy, no. Not today. Today's my day." She sat on his lap trying to take off the badge he displayed so proudly.

"Every day is your day, my little one."

She shook her head. "This is the big one. Ten years old!" She snatched at his badge again, and he let her take it this time. "Please," she begged. "Mama hates the guns. Leave this at home." She tossed the badge.

"Mama hates the gun runners," he corrected. "Not guns."

She hated the guns. They scared her. Her bottom lip came out. "Please."

He sighed, shaking his head. "But today, we'll make it just us. No good guys and bad guys."

"No guns." Caterina smiled, triumphant.

He smiled and kissed her cheek. "A birthday present to you. Only cake and presents."

"Cat?" Gravel spun in the wheel wells, and the car jerked to the side. Rocco tugged her arm, dragging her from the wretched grip of her real life nightmare. "What's wrong?"

She blinked, dazed. Where to begin? Streams of sadness fell down her cheeks. It may've been seconds ticking by, but they felt like lifetimes. When she did look up, Rocco's surprised concern melted into gentle prodding.

"Caterina." They were stopped, the car in park. He faced her, his fingers brushing her cheek. "You're crying. What just happened?"

The memories were too much, and she couldn't tell him about her family. She never told anyone. To voice that day, to explain what had happened and how she'd survived...that was too much. Too much regret. Too much sadness. She'd never survive the pain. Remembering was all she could stand.

"I can't-" Her throat cracked. She couldn't even say no.

Her head shook, and her mind shut down. She swallowed away the lump in her throat and pictured the country house they'd just left. El Mateperros. El Mateperros. El Mateperros. Channeling her lonely misery into hatred, she fueled her obsession, vowing once again-as she had every time her heart hurt-that she would end El Mateperros's life. Slowly. Painfully. And he would know why he was dying at her hands, just as her family had died on his order.

"Where you at? Come back to me." Rocco's strong voice reached her, sturdy and safe, comforting, as his warm hands cupped her face.

She took a breath so deep her lungs might explode and let it drift out. "Guess you don't end up where I am without a little crazy."

"That wasn't crazy. That was...awful."

"Same difference." They sat in long silence. "I'd kill for a Diet Coke."

"Funny, I think you might."

"And Funyuns."

He wrinkled his nose. "Nice combo."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it."

His thumb caressed her cheek, maybe searching for any last minute tears. "You sure you're okay?"

A weak smile was all she could muster, but she righted from his hold and clicked her seatbelt into place. "Okay enough. I'll be better once I get my soda."

The gear shift clicked softly, and he eased them back onto the road. "You'd better warn whoever hurt you on the beach bad enough to warrant that kind of reaction because, baby, once you tell me, I'm gonna kill them."

Not if I get to him first.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Rocco walked into the hotel bar, sweeping his eyes over swanky decor and a piano he was intimately familiar with. Roman sat the bar wearing a sports jacket, and it looked so absurd Rocco had to muffle a chuckle. One false move and the expensive fabric over his buddy's back would split at the seams. They weren't meant to wear the corporate getup. A tie was a noose, slacks, shrink wrap, and don't even get him started on the lack of convenient places to carry a weapon. He nodded to the bartender to bring him whatever Roman was drinking, then dropped onto a barstool.

Two of them in collared shirts. The odds were unreal. Rocco cleared his throat. "So that file you brought explained nothing. What's the real deal?"

"Guess Boss Man thought you might need an extra set of hands; it's easier to have someone stationed by if shit goes down. Use me, don't use me. That's your call."

Made sense. Jared hated solo jobs. Even though Rocco was working with Cat, no one else from Titan meant no one else at all. "Fine."

Roman's brow furrowed. "Fine? What's got your boxers in a bunch, dude?"

Rocco's drink arrived, and he took a sip, grimacing. "Fuckin' gin?"

"Should've asked what it was first, dick. Liam Laird happens to love gin."

"Liam Laird. Christ, what a name."

Roman shrugged. "Whatever. How's the job going? That Mrs. Locke of yours is something to look at. Whoa, buddy."

"Watch yourself."

Two hundred pounds of soldier-in-a-sports-jacket turned in his chair, eyebrows raised, and tilting his head. "Is that right?"

Rocco took another sip, confirming that gin tasted like bark off a pine tree. Pine was for household cleaners, not liquor. "Eyes off the missus."

"Come on now, Daniel. What fun is it to bust your balls if you act like a prissy bitch, all sipping your drink like it's high tea over at Buckingham Palace?"

Rocco ignored him, taking a larger gulp. Goddamn, he hated gin. "She's a cool chick. I happen to dig cool chicks, so it works out well."

"You two playing house?"

He held up his left hand, showing off that prime piece of jewelry that, only days ago, had made him cower in his camo. "Married for the job."