“Say it again.”
Trevor’s dark brows furrow, and he holds himself over me, braced on his elbows. “What?”
“Say it again. As many times as you want. With you…I can be Daniella. I can be…me.” I swallow hard, and a tear trails down my cheek until Trevor kisses it away. “I understand now,” I say quietly. “What you meant on the plane when you said I needed to trust you. And I do.”
“Daniella Monroe, I’m going to make sure you never doubt who you are again,” he says as he lowers himself down on top of me and his cock nudges my entrance. “You’re brilliant and smart and beautiful. You’re the only woman I’ve ever…” He shakes his head and kisses me again, and I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight.
“Make love to me, Trevor. I want you inside me. Now.”
He leans over and rummages in the drawer of his nightstand before tossing a foil packet onto the pillow next to me. “What do you like,Daniella?”
“You.” I reach down and wrap my fingers around his cock, and its girth…my eyes widen and I tip my head up so I can look him in the eyes. “It’s been a while for me. More than a while. And you’re…um…a lot bigger than my usual toys.”
Trevor chuckles. “Toys? When we go back to DC, you’re going to show me these toys of yours, baby.” He shifts onto his side, grabs the condom, and rips the packet open.
I’m mesmerized as he rolls it over his length—and a little scared, but I trust this man more than I trust myself.
“Look at me, Daniella Rosa. You are mine, and before we’re done here tonight, you’re going to know it better than you know your own name.” His eyes darken, his voice drops, and pleasure gathers between my thighs. “And in case it’s not clear…” He takes my hand and presses it to his heart. “I’m yours as well.”
* * *
Heavy pounding wakes me,and Trevor groans. “Whoever that is needs to go the fuck away. Right now.” After he presses his lips to mine, he rolls to his feet, then snags a pair of boxer briefs out of his top drawer. “I’ll be right back. I want at least another few hours with you in bed before we have to face reality.”
His eyes, though still bleary with sleep, hold the promise of so very many things. I glance at my phone to check the time—barely 8:00 a.m.—and find two dozen messages waiting for me. Emails, texts…oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“Don’t move!” a gruff voice commands. “Trevor James Moana, you’re under arrest for the murder of Arturo Velasquez, Roberto Cordova, and Gilberto Sosa in Caracas, Venezuela. Turn around and lace your fingers behind your head.”
“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Trevor asks. A dull thud sends my heart shooting into my throat, and he groans, “I’m not resisting, but I want to know who’s accusing me.”
Oh God. I scramble out of bed and grab the first thing I see—one of Trevor’s t-shirts from his duffel bag—and pull it over my head.
“Above my pay grade, asshole. But that article in the paper this morning was pretty damming,” the first voice says. “Orders came from Washington. You’re in a shitload of trouble.”
“Trevor! I didn’t—“ I cry as I race for the living room.
“Freeze!”
My eyes zero in on the barrel of a pistol, and the snap of handcuffs makes me flinch. Three police officers stand in a semi-circle around Trevor, and a fourth—the one pointing his gun at me— is only a few inches away.
“Daniella Rose Monroe, you’re named as a person of interest in the murder of Arturo Velasquez and Roberto Cordova. Hands behind your head, lace your fingers together.”
“I don’t understand. They came—“
“Dani, don’t say another fucking word,” Trevor snaps as two of the officers muscle him towards the bedroom. His hands are already cuffed behind his back, and he twists his head to stare at me, his eyes dark and cold as steel.
“Tell me what clothes you want,” the cop on the left says to him, “and we’ll get ‘em. Try anything, and you’re going down to the station wearing nothing but your briefs.”
“I want my goddamn lawyer.”
“Last chance, asshole. It’s fifteen degrees outside. You want to be taken out barefoot?”
Trevor grumbles something I can’t hear, and the other two cops focus on me. “Hands. Now, Ms. Monroe. We’ll take care of clothing for you when Moana’s done.”
I don’t have a choice. They have guns, and Trevor’s right. Anything we say now won’t do either of us any good.
As one of the officers takes my right hand from behind my head and twists it down to the small of my back, I swallow hard. The cuff is cold and tight, and my shoulders start to ache as he snaps the second one around my left wrist.
Trevor doesn’t meet my gaze as the two officers lead him towards the door. He’s wearing a pair of sweat pants, sneakers, and a flannel shirt. The look on his face…he thinks I lied to him. That I published the article even though he asked me not to. I have to tell him I didn’t. That my editor must have done it while we were asleep.
