Free Savage Secrets (Titan #6) by Cristin Harber Page A

he could—
    “Everything okay in here?” A voice called from the front of the bar. The open top of the piano most likely blocked them from view. “Mrs. de Campoamor?”
    The voice stepped closer, walking in and maybe investigating the crash of music. Rocco palmed the 9mm tucked in the side of his pants. Their interruption wasn’t the man from earlier but some other guy about to get a mindful of “get the hell out.”

CHAPTER NINE
     
    The charged air hung over them. Rocco pulled back, his eyes locked on Cat’s wild ones. Her lips were pinker, fuller, a testament to the last five minutes. Despite the disruption, his erection strained for escape. The khakis dug into him and weren’t doing any favors hiding his arousal.
    Caterina should move. He should unwrap himself from her sweet body. Give her some space, but she was a sexpot. Her eyes blazed. She hadn’t relaxed her thighs, and he was just realizing she had a fist of his shirt pulled between them, holding him to her.
    Rocco saw movement by the bar. It was dark and the operative in him wanted to shoot first and question later. But why shoot the poor bartender? Nothing but a headache to deal with later. Still, he never trusted face value and unholstered his gun.
    “Mrs. de Campoamor?”
    “She’s fine.” The approaching footsteps stopped. He leaned forward. “Tell him you’re fine.”
    “I’m fine.” Her voice was saturated in arousal. Strained and hoarse.
    “Okay.” Whoever was standing by didn’t sound convinced. “If you—”
    “Out. The lady’s fine.” Rocco was unable and unwilling to move from the embrace of her thighs. Jump starting their kiss against the piano was his top priority. The footsteps turned and walked away, and the man muttered for them to take it to their room. Gladly .
    With his gun secured in its holster again, he bent over, brushing his lips on the softest skin he’d ever kissed, making his way up her neck and teasing her earlobe with a lick. “Upstairs?”
    “Upstairs.”
    He pulled her against him. “Not every day I get to take my pseudo-wife to bed for the first time. All long legs and long hair. Freakin’ dream come true kind of beauty.”
    A blush highlighted her cheeks. She looked away, and he caught her chin in his hand. “I’m serious, Cat. I’ve never met someone who works me up the way you do.”
    “It’s the accent.”
    “It’s everything.”
    “Not every day my tatted up, muscled up pseudo-husband wants to take me to our hotel room.”
    “Oh, I’ve—” Wait, what? “Tats?”
    Her bottom lip dropped. “You seem like the type.”
    “To have a couple of tattoos?”
    “I assume you have tattoos. All you military, black ops boys do.”
    “I need a second.” He shook his head, feeling as if he were missing a connection. Had she checked on him? It’d be easy enough to find out his distinguishing marks, if nothing else, to assure the man who showed up at her door was who he said he was. But why lie? Why pretend she didn’t know his name or what he looked like?
    He took a step back, knocking into the piano bench. He looked at the piano keys. The song she’d just played tickled a memory. But what? “I need some air.”
    “Rocco. Wait.”
    He was already walking toward the door, pissed, paranoid, and pretty sure she’d been checking up on him but not fessing to it. What was the point in lying?
    “Don’t be like that,” she called after him.
    He turned, eyeing her suspiciously. “I don’t care that you checked up on me.”
    Her bottom lip dropped. “You don’t?”
    “But why lie about it? Why the whole ‘I don’t know your name’ bullshit?”
    “Oh.” She ran her hands into her hair, pulling it off her shoulders. Shaking her head, she dropped it back, stared at the ceiling. “Checking up on you before you arrived—got it.”
    His eyes narrowed. That paranoid, everyone-was-stomping-on-his-parade feeling choked in his chest. “When else would you have—you know, it doesn’t