The Hitmans’s Obsession: An Age-Gap Romance Read online

  “So I’ll make you an ice-cream sundae.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Hold the ice cream, extra champagne on top?”

  “How about the finest Pepsi I can find.”

  She sighs. “You’re no fun.”

  “I was never fun.”

  She hides a smile. “Whatever. I’m going for a swim.” She turns. “Unless you think I need fucking water wings to use the pool?”

  I bristle at her swearing. It sounds so… adult. And it reminds me that she is an adult. And that scares the fuck out of me.

  “No diving,” I grunt. She rolls her eyes and storms off.

  I dump the champagne and glance in the fridge. There’s frozen stuff in the freezer. But God knows how long it’s been there. I’ll need to go out later, since we don’t know how long we’ll be lying low here. I think about grabbing a beer, but I’m technically working. And I don’t drink and work. I’m certainly not drinking around a girl who looks like that.

  A splashing sound makes me frown. But then I remember. I glance out the window. The pool lights are on, and there’s new music coming from out there. It’s not that loud though, and the neighbors aren’t that close. I walk through to the sliding glass doors that walk out onto the veranda by the pool. But I suddenly go still. Shit.

  It’s not Bellamy in the water. It’s a wet dream. A wet dream with dark hair, smooth skin, and the world’s skimpiest, tiniest, little blue bikini on. She climbs out of the water via the ladder, facing away from me. But that suit… fucking hell. It creeps up her ass. It hugs every goddamn curve. And I’m hard in seconds.

  Look away. I need to look away. Hell, I need to run away. But I’m just staring. Her arms rise, and she squeezes her hair out. She flexes her taut body. I groan, and I’m still staring when she turns and looks right at me.

  She smiles. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I snap. “Making sure you didn’t find the mini bar out here.”

  She eyes me, and that look is fucking… sultry. “Do you want to come in?”

  Fuck no. Well, fuck yes. But if I do, she’s not leaving that pool with any shred of innocence.

  “Nope,” I grunt.

  “Oh, come on, Vincent!”

  “I’m fine. Swim safe.”

  I need to get away. I turn. But that’s when I hear the splash. I turn back, and I frown.

  “Bellamy?”

  She’s under the water. She’s sinking towards the bottom. And she’s not moving at all. But I sure do. I move like fucking lightning. I charge over, shedding my shoes and gun. I plunge into the water, my heart racing.

  5

  Bellamy

  Seven Years Ago:

  “Shit.”

  The word makes me gasp. It even pulls my eyes away from the bleeding gash on his hand, up to his face.

  “Sorry,” Vincent grunts. He grits his teeth and covers the gash with his uninjured hand. My ice skate with the loose blade lies on the ice next to his knee. The ice blooms red around it from his blood. My bodyguard might be a huge, fierce, total badass of a man. But he’s never once sworn in front of me in five years.

  “Are you okay?!”

  “I’ll be fine,” he grunts. He glares at the offending figure skate.

  “Fuck, Vincent that looks—”

  “Language, Bellamy,” he growls.

  I frown. “You just swore.”

  “By accident, because I cut myself.”

  “Vincent, I’m old enough to swear.”

  “I disagree.”

  “My dad swears all the time!”

  “Your dad and I are adults, Bellamy,” he growls.

  “So am I!”

  He raises a brow at me and gives me a soft smirk.”

  I frown right back. “Well, basically.”

  “Give or take six years. And even when you’re an adult, a girl like you shouldn’t swear.”

  “Why,” I sneer. “Is it not ladylike?”

  “Because swears are cheap,” he grunts. “And you’re worth more than that.”

  I purse my lips. It’s a compliment. But it’s also him telling me what I can’t do, which I’ve been having a bigger and bigger problem with these days.

  “When I’m older, you won’t be able to stop me from swearing.”

  “Watch me.”

  I sigh heavily. “Well can I swear if I get hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Vincent!”

  He shrugs. “I didn’t make the rules.”

  “You literally just did.”

  He grins and I shake my head. I turn and reach into my gym bag. I pull out a first aid kit and take out a bandage. “Here,” I mutter. I move to start wrapping his hand, but he frowns.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  Vincent glares at me.

  “Like a donkey?” I shrug. “You know, stubborn?”

  His glare remains. But he looks like he’s going to let it go.

  “Here,” I take his hand and start to wrap it.

  “Figure skating, huh?” he grunts. “You couldn’t be into something soft like beach volleyball?”

  “Look on the bright side,” I grin. “I could be on the fencing team.”

  Present:

  It takes everything I have not to move. Or laugh. Then his arms circle me, and his firm hands grip me. And it takes every part of me not to throw my arms around him too.

  It’s a shitty prank. But I’m in a feisty mood after Vincent took the champagne. Under the water, he grabs me tight. His muscles surge as he kicks off the bottom of the pool.

  “Bellamy!” He roars when we break the surface.

  I almost break the act. God, he sounds really, really terrified. His voice has an edge of worry and fear to it I’ve never heard before.

  “Fuck me! Bellamy! Fuck!” He pulls us both from the pool with one muscled arm. His other arm circles my waist, and I can feel his forearm clenching and tightening against my tummy. His hand is right on my hip, and I tremble.

  Vincent drags me out of the pool and drapes me down on the ground. I jump when his fingers touch my neck, checking for a pulse. His huge hand goes flat on my sternum, and I almost gasp out loud when he shoves down. He does it again, screaming my name.

  Okay, this prank is over. This isn’t funny anymore. I’m about to break, when suddenly his hand pulls away. His huge body leans over mine. I’m just opening my eyes, when Vincent Cave’s lips touch mine. After that, I know nothing but the feel of them against mine. Nothing else at all.

  It’s not a kiss. He’s breathing into my mouth. And in a second, he pulls away. But I have what I have now. I have the feel and taste of his lips on mine forever seared into my subconscious. It doesn’t have to have been a “real” kiss; not to make me feel what I feel.

  “Bellamy!” He roars and slams a hand into my sternum, right below my tits. This time, it hurts. I gasp, choking and curling up into a ball.

  “Shit!” I hiss and choke.

  “Fuck! Bellamy!” he gasps. He cradles me in his arms while I choke for air. He lays me back down and leans over me. His eyes are brimming with fear and concern. I look right up at him, and I slowly smile.

  Vincent’s worry fades into a frown. “Bellamy…”

  “Vincent Cave,” I say dryly. “You’re my hero…”

  Vincent goes still at my ripped-off line from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. His jaw clenches. Something burns wildly in his gaze.

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  I smile again, but it’s faltering this time. He’s not laughing. We’re not joking about this. He looks pissed.

  “Bellamy,” my name grates through his teeth like gravel.

  “I—you were being a dick! And—”

  “So you faked drowning?!” He roars. He backs away from me and gets to his feet. Shit. This is not how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to laugh. I thought he might, at least? I didn’t actually think it through very much. Clearly.

  “Was that funny to you in your head?”r />
  “A little?” I mumble. I get to my feet slowly, facing him.

  He glares at me. But then his eyes drop. It’s only for a second. But his gaze lowers down, over my tits in the especially small bikini I found upstairs. I haven’t been at the shore house in years. This suit and all of my clothes here are from at least four years ago. So the fit is… scandalous at best. Deep down, I know that’s maybe what I was going for when I put it on. I wanted to be scandalous. I wanted to provoke. I think it’s working, and I’m not sure if that scares or excites me.

  Vincent’s gaze lowers even more, over the clinging bottoms of the bikini. His jaw clenches a little tighter. I see a look in his eyes I don’t quite recognize. It’s fierce, like he normally looks when he’s pissed. But it’s something more, too. There’s a hunger or something there. It makes me tremble, and my core flutters with a tingly feeling.

  His eyes slide back to mine. He frowns and stands. “I can’t fucking believe you just pulled that shit,” he hisses.

  “I think I remember you saying all the time that adults weren’t supposed to swear—”

  “They aren’t supposed to play fucking dead either!” He snaps. “Get in the house.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said get in the house,” he growls. “Now.”

  I glare at him. “You’re not the boss of me.”

  Vincent snarls. He moves towards me quickly, and I gasp when his hands land on my upper arms. I can feel the heat of him so close to my body. My core flutters again.

  “Right now, you’re damn right I am.”

  I jut my chin out defiantly. “Vincent, I’m a nineteen-year-old adult.”

  “Then fucking act like one,” he snaps. “And you can start by getting your ass in the house, right now. Playtime is fucking over.”

  “You didn’t used to be such a dick, you know!”

  “And you didn’t used to be such a little brat,” he snaps back.

  I whirl, and I march angrily into the house. But I can feel his eyes on me the whole way in. And I like it. By the time I get inside, I’m not even mad anymore about being cooped up in a house with Vincent Cave.

  I’m excited.

  6

  Vincent

  She’s out of sight when I get inside. Thank God.

  I’m still on edge. I know it was a stupid prank. But my heart is still racing from it. The image of her lying in the bottom of that pool is etched in my damn brain. It’s left me shaken, and remembering that however sassy and bold she is, she’s still soft, and delicate. I need to be more vigilant. I need to be more protective.

  Right now, I also need a damn drink.

  Micheal keeps nothing but the good stuff in the liquor cabinet in the study. I’d be happy with cheap Irish whiskey. But the bottle of Macallan 28 Year Reserve will do, I guess. Still dripping wet from the pool, I pour a large splash. I knock half of it back. It burns fiercely, and my nerves calm. But only slightly.

  That fucking prank. I really am shaken by it. Rattled, like I’m not usually rattled. But it’s also what happened after: the feeling of her skin under my fingertips, her body cradled in my arms. And you can be damn sure I’m thinking of the way our mouths touched. It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t.

  I take another large gulp of scotch. It was not a kiss, I coach myself.

  But even if it was CPR to save her life, I still tasted the forbidden fruit. I tasted her lips, and I know my world is forever changed. I know from here on out, my life will be two eras: before my lips tasted Bellamy Genovisi’s, and after.

  It’s been years and years since I was with a woman. That’s by choice. My life just doesn’t have room for that, even something one-off or casual. Before, my whole world was Bellamy. After she left, my whole world was learning how to refocus the anger inside to something else. It turns out that that was killing for the family, and I was damn good at it. I still am damn good at it. But murdering people for money doesn’t lend itself very well to having romantic relationships. Not healthy ones at least.

  But in this second era of my life, after tasting her lips? I know for a fact that I’m done for. I know no other lips, and no other woman will ever compare. I know any other girl, no matter how gorgeous, will always be a pale imitation.

  I shake the thought from my head and finish my drink. It’s late. I do a sweep of the house, lock up and set the alarm, and then I head upstairs. With each soggy step, I repeat the mantra. I will forget tonight. I will move past this idea of a before and after Bellamy’s lips. Because I have to. By the time I reach the second floor, it’s half working. But then my eyes see what they see, and my jaw ticks.

  Fuck. It’s the bikini top I see first. Two tiny blue triangles connected by a string. Just lying on the hallway floor. I look further down the hallway towards the big room that Bellamy always slept in when she used to come here. There, I see the companion bottoms; a tiny little blue scrap of fabric, just lying there.

  My eyes focus on it. My cock throbs and surges. I tell myself to go to my room and leave it. But myself doesn’t listen very good. Not when Bellamy is involved. I walk towards the bathing suit, not my own room. I pick up the top. I tell myself it’s to hang it up so she’s not leaving wet marks on the floor. But I let my fingers rub over it. I walk further down the hall and hesitate when I stop at the bottoms.

  Don’t touch it, I tell myself. Leave it be.

  But I can’t and I don’t. I pick up the bathing suit bottoms, and I groan. Christ, they’re still warm. Warm from her gorgeous body—from that tight ass, and forbidden place between her legs. The place I shouldn’t ever be thinking about. I rub my thumb over the seam of them. My head feels like its swimming, but I’ve only had the one drink. I hold the little bikini bottom in my hands another minute. Then I drop it quickly, like it’s scorching hot. I grit my teeth and back away, staring at them lying on the ground like a crime scene.

  Get past this, I growl to myself. Right now.

  It’s been so long since I was at this house. I try and remember where I slept before. But I think it was the suite over the garage. Instead, I turn and open the first door in front of me. Success, it’s one of the huge guest rooms. I step inside and close the door behind me. I peel off my soaking wet shirt. My wet pants follow, until I’m naked. Naked and more than slightly aroused.

  But I shake my head and walk across the room. The guest room has a huge, attached bathroom. Inside, I find crystal, white marble, and chrome everything. Including the spacious rain-shower. It’s one of those ‘modern glam’ style bathrooms. The shower doesn’t have walls, just an enormous rain shower head over a drain, all sculpted to look like you’re in a mix of Hawaii and Restoration Hardware.

  It’s good to be King Micheal, I smirk.

  I turn on the water and step inside. Fuck that feels good. I rinse off the chlorine from the pool. But my mind wanders despite every attempt otherwise. I remember pulling her from the water and touching her barely covered body. I remember the way she felt in my arms. And then I remember her lips—full, pouty, and soft. So forbidden, and yet so sweet.

  I groan, and my cock hardens. Harder, and harder it throbs, growing longer and thicker. My balls swell, and my length pulses thickly out from beneath my abs. I push a hand down. I tell myself to stop, but I don’t listen. My hand pushes soap down my abs, over the grooves of my hips onto my shaft. I wrap my fingers round my aching thickness, and I slide them up and down.

  My head drops back in pleasure. Water slides over my muscles. I imagine it’s not my hand; that it’s Bellamy’s lips. It’s her pouty, bratty little mouth sliding down my cock. I groan. The thought is so fucking wrong that it startles me. It pushes me to the edge in seconds, as if I could come instantly. I stroke my hand up and down again, and again. And then the second door to the bathroom swings open.

  I didn’t know there was a second door.

  I whirl. Bellamy stops cold. Her eyes are wide as hell. Her face is pink and shocked. Her mouth hangs open, and she’s staring right at my rock-hard cock.r />
  “Bellamy…” I choke out.

  “I—I’m so sorry!” she gasps. She turns, and she flees.

  7

  Bellamy

  Four years ago:

  “I just don’t get it.”

  It’s raining slightly. I turn to look at Carson behind the wheel of his Ferrari. All said, Carson isn’t such a bad guy. He’s really sweet, actually. He’s a few years older than me in school, and the son of a billionaire oil executive.

  “Carson, I just… I don’t know.”

  “Bellamy, I’m not asking you to sleep with me. I’m just saying, we’ve been on four dates…”

  “I know, and Carson, I have a really fun time with you.”

  “But not fun enough to even kiss me?”

  This conversation is a direct result of my rejecting yet another attempt by him. It’s the third one, in four dates. I think it’s Carson’s breaking point.

  “I don’t get it, Bellamy. If you don’t like me, why are you going out with me?”

  “I do like you,” I say softly.

  “As what, a friend?”

  Yes. But I shrug instead of saying that. “I don’t know.”

  “You do. So just fucking say it.”

  “Carson…”

  “Is there someone else?”

  Again, I want to say yes. The answer is immediate in my head. But I simply shrug. “No,” I lie.

  “Whatever.”

  My face falls. “Carson…”

  “I think we’re done here, Bellamy. I know this is new for you. But I’m not asking for the world. You know I’m not that guy. I’m not trying to pressure you, and I’m looking for a notch on the bedpost. I just want to kiss someone I like, who I’m attracted to. That’s what people do, Bellamy.”

  “I know.”

  We sit in silence for a minute. Carson sighs. “I think you should get out,” he finally says.