With shaking hands, she extracted her cell. Finger poised above the number nine, she hesitated. Calling the police would do what? They were already here. The phone clattered into the sink. She sat on the closed toilet.
Pull yourself together. Minutes ticked by before she steadied enough to stand. She returned her cell to her purse then repaired her makeup.
She slipped her heels onto her feet. Smoothing her dress, she took a deep breath then exited. She hurried down the stairs and toward the foyer. Time to leave.
Candy stepped into her path. “I was looking for you. Where’ve you been?”
Alarm dampened her palms. “I was admiring the fantastic art.”
Several seconds ticked by as the taller woman appraised her. “I thought you and Hector had skipped out for a private party.”
Trella laughed, hoping the sound wasn’t as high and grating as it seemed to her ears. She glanced around, searching for the closest path to the front door.
Hector walked up and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her flush to his side. “Still monopolizing my gorgeous date?”
“She missed you,” Candy replied.
His penetrating gaze met Trella’s, searching for her secrets yet yielding none of his own. “Something wrong?”
She patted his chest. “Of course not.”
Hector’s face lowered. At the last second, she averted her head so his lips touched her cheek instead of her mouth.
He quirked an eyebrow. “You are averse to public displays of affection?”
Don’t give him a reason to question your sincerity. “These people are your constituents, Hector. Not your family. You can’t hand your opponent anything to use against you during election season.”
He laughed. “Candy, this woman may make an honest man of me.”
The other woman winked at her. “You two make a handsome couple.”
Trella’s glance flitted through the room. Jose nodded in her direction before looking away. The small acknowledgement calmed her, reassuring her she was not alone.
“Off to find the hubby before he drinks too much. She’s a gem, Hector. Don’t let her slip away.” Candy kissed them both on the cheek then left them alone.
After the other woman sashayed away, Hector leaned closer. “I know you aren’t interested in spending the night, but can I at least persuade you to stay until after the guests leave?”
She pouted. “I wish, but I have a deadline with the gallery. I can’t spare the time until after my show.”
He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, leading her onto the patio.
“After the show concludes, I’m all yours.” She caressed his arm as they walked along the cobblestone pathway winding through the manicured lawn. “If you don’t mind, can you have the limo take me home? It’s late, and I need an early start on my work tomorrow.”
“No problem.”
He escorted her to the front of the house where the limo waited near the curb. The chauffer stood nearby, chatting with several valet drivers.
Trella assumed Hector would see her off, but when she climbed inside the plush vehicle he followed.
He slid along the leather seat beside her, his thigh pressing against hers. “Spend the night with me.”
“Why rush?” She patted his knee. “We have plenty of time.”
“I take opportunities. I don’t wait for them.” He placed a hand at the back of her neck, holding her immobile as he bent his head to hers. He planted a kiss on her closed lips. “Tomorrow?”
She suppressed a groan of irritation at his insistence. “I told you I won’t have time until after the show.”
Taking advantage of her open mouth, he kissed her again, slipping his tongue between her lips, reminding her of the darting motion of a snake.
She forced down the urge to gag an endured the massacre for three too-damn-long seconds. She put a hand on the center of his chest and exerted firm pressure.
He lifted his head. “You drive me crazy.” He pressed a button, lowering the partition separating them from the driver. “We’re taking Ms. Arnold to her home.”
The driver nodded as he eased the long vehicle away from the curb. With relief, she noted Hector didn’t activate the privacy panel.
“I can stop by with lunch tomorrow.”
She shifted on the seat to face him. “Please try to understand. When I’m in my creative zone, I don’t stop for any reason.”
He lifted her fingers to his lips. “I understand everything about you, Trella. But you have no idea what you do to me.”
Play the role. “I know what Louis claimed I did to him, but I suppose each man is different.”
He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Very different.”
He didn’t attempt to kiss her again but settled a hand on her breast, kneading and pulling at her in a manner that reminded her of milking a cow. She couldn’t help contrasting his rough touch with Carlos’ soft one.
The limo pulled into her driveway. The beginnings of a crippling headache from the effort of pretended civility throbbed behind her eyes.
The driver barely opened the door before she sprang from the backseat.
“Trella!”
Shivering, despite the warmth of the late night, she turned around to stare at the monster she now knew was responsible for her husband’s death.
He pinned her with a hard look. “I know you’ll be worth the wait.”
Chapter Twelve
Trella ticked off the actions in her head as she performed them. Open door, deactivate alarm, close door, set alarm. The house was quiet except for the muted hum of the air conditioner. She climbed the stairs, counting each one as she ascended.
In the bedroom, she flipped the switch to activate the gas fireplace. She stood in front of the hearth, watching the brightening glow of light until the blast of heat hit her, but the fire failed to dissipate the chill that had taken up residence in her bones.
She unzipped her dress, smoothed it off her shoulders then stepped out of the puddle of fabric.
The phone rang, its strident tones shattering the quiet. Trella snatched up the receiver.
“Hello?”
The sound of deep breathing met her ear.
“Whoever you are, my line has a trace on it. Feel free to keep calling.” She slammed down the phone. She kicked off her heels on her way into the bathroom. The coolness of the tile made her shiver.
Hector Rodriguez killed Louis.
Even if he didn’t actually pull the trigger, he knew who did. Trella turned on the shower, staring at the drain as the water rushed across the tan and caramel tile.
She peeled off her underwear, leaving the bra and panties on the floor, and reached in to turn on the shower. Trella welcomed the heat of the water. She could wash Hector’s touch from her body but not the sickening memory from her mind.
Tears she’d fought back would no longer be denied. They leaked past her shattered barriers of control, joining the warm rush of water running down her face.
* * * * *
Carlos drove his Jeep into the garage at Trella’s house. He reset the alarm before he made his nightly rounds of checking the windows and doors, and then he climbed the stairs. Outside her bedroom door, he heard the faint rush of water.
He returned downstairs. In the office, Carlos connected the digital camera to the computer. He downloaded the photos, saved them to the hard drive then printed them off in color. Not wanting to disturb Miguel in case he was sleeping, Carlos studied the security tapes. Although his cousin had access to the tapes via laptop, the medicine Miguel had been given made him drowsy. Until Miguel’s body adjusted to the meds, Carlos had to be the eyes and ears for all of them.
Seeing nothing of concern, he returned to the office, scooped up the photographs then continued to his room.
He showered then tugged on a pair of drawstring pants. He’d made plans to connect with the guys tomorrow at noon to peruse the information he’d found and formulate their next step.
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Puzzled that he hadn’t yet seen Trella, he climbed the stairs once more to her room. He knocked on the door and waited for a response. Hearing none, he stepped inside. A wall of heat caused him to blink. He flipped off the fireplace’s switch. The rush of water continued in the bathroom.
Carlos opened the double doors, content to wait outside on the patio for her to emerge. The lights of the Valley twinkled in the distance, reminding him of how Trella’s eyes danced when she laughed.
His jaw tightened as he recalled Rodriguez kissing her. He’d wanted to rip the man’s head off for daring to touch his woman.
His. He understood she was an independent woman. But when it came to protecting her—that was his job. She needed to understand. He’d never had to work for a woman’s attention and affection before. Trella was making him jump through hoops without even trying. Talk about pathetic…
Carlos retraced his steps. He glanced at the clock. He’d been home over an hour, and she was still taking a shower?
“Trella?”
No response. Worry crept over him. He opened the bathroom door. Her underwear lay in a pile on the floor. Water streamed from the showerhead, steaming the glass. Heart racing, he rushed farther into the room.
He stopped, brought to a halt by the sight greeting him. Trella sat on the shower bench. Her eyes were closed, and she leaned her head against the tiled wall.
Carlos yanked open the door. He turned off the stream of water. A towel rested on the bar. He draped it around her, took her hand, and helped her to her feet.
After leading her out of the shower stall, he used the towel to dry her body and her hair. Leaving her standing there for a moment, he went back into the bedroom and rummaged through her dresser, locating a t-shirt and a pair of panties.
He returned to the bathroom. “Put these on.” He handed her the clothing.
She did as he ordered but said nothing.
He whipped off his shirt in the hot room and tossed it aside. Cradling her hands in his, he backed out of the bathroom, pulling her to sit on a curved chaise. “Sweetheart, you’re safe.”
He sat beside her, cradled her face between his hands and forced her to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
An expression of sadness and utter defeat settled onto Trella’s face. She shook her head slowly from side to side.
“The man’s evil,” she whispered. She rested her head against Carlos’ chest and gripped the waistband of his pants.
He held her, rocking her softly against him. Despite his intent to provide comfort, her softness penetrated his mind, causing his body to betray him. His erection pulsed. Her hold tightened.
Trella lifted her head, bringing her lips close to his. “I want you again.”
She touched his mouth with hers, licked his bottom lip before slipping her tongue inside to tangle with his.
Raw hunger and the urge to supplant any memory she may have of Rodriguez’s kiss rose within Carlos. Despite what he wanted, Trella didn’t need him in that manner. He drew back, putting space between them.
He wiped a hand down his face. “Not tonight.”
She reached between them and stroked her hand down his length. “Not all of you feels that way.”
Her touch, coupled with her rich, husky voice, had his eyes crossing in pleasure.
He fought against surrendering to the sensation. Expelling his breath in a loud exhale, he captured her hands in his. “I’m not a substitute for Louis, for your fears, for anything. You hear me?”
Blinking, she nodded, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth.
He stood and pulled her to her feet. In silence, he led her to the bed. Carlos pulled the sheet back and waited as she followed his unspoken command.
“What’d Rodriguez do? I’ll kill him if he hurt you.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No more killing.”
Leaning down, he stroked her damp hair. “Tell me what happened.”
“I’m sorry for asking you to come back here. I put you in danger.”
“Trella, sweetheart. What happened?”
“I overheard Hector on the phone.”
“What’d he say?”
Tears filled her eyes. “He said they’d lost money because of a delay. He threatened someone for screwing up. For killing ‘the detective’. I know he meant Louis. I know it.”
Rodriguez is a dead man. Carlos straightened. Fury raced through him. He turned to leave, but she grabbed his hand, staying his progress.
“Don’t go.”
Her eyes pleaded with him, warring with the urge to avenge Louis’ death.
“Not like this, Carlos.”
His jaw tightened. She didn’t know what she was asking of him. He’d do anything for her, though. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I won’t leave.”
She loosened her grip on his wrist, and he opened his eyes.
“Thank you.”
He stroked her cheek before tugging the sheet to her waist.
Carlos picked up her discarded clothing. He draped her dress over a chair. In the bathroom, he hung the damp towel on the bar before picking up Trella’s discarded underwear.
“Carlos?”
He returned to the bedroom. “Try to rest, baby. I’ll be back.”
Downstairs, he deposited her underwear in the laundry room. He took his time checking the cameras and making sure the house was locked up tight. He wanted her asleep before he returned.
Trella was a handful. A determined Trella was more than he could handle—especially one intent on giving him what they both wanted. He didn’t want her under a cloud of regret. Until she realized his feelings were real, he’d do well to keep distance between them.
By the time he returned upstairs, she’d fallen asleep, curled onto her side with one fist under her chin. He kissed her forehead then climbed into bed beside her.
* * * * *
Trella woke to the sun’s light streaming across her face. She stretched as her nose identified the comforting aroma of her favorite Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee.
The memory of last night came flooding back. Thankfully, Carlos hadn’t acted on her request. She’d been confused and not herself. She doubted many men would have refused what she’d offered. She hated to admit she still wanted him. She’d been asleep when he’d joined her in bed, but in the middle of the night she’d awakened. Her first instinct was to kiss him, but she’d been afraid of a repeat of his rejection.
Maybe he was right. Maybe she was hiding behind Louis instead of facing the fact she and Carlos were growing closer.
She hurried through her morning ablution then pulled on a gray tank and matching yoga pants, allowing her normal routine to center her after last night’s drama.
When she finished, she felt clearer and able to tackle her day.
She bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Clad in a pair of drawstring khaki shorts, Carlos stood in front of the oven, stirring something in a pot.
“What smells so good?”
He turned around. “Oatmeal, fresh orange juice—courtesy of your trees—scrambled eggs, waffles and turkey sausage.”
He handed her coffee in her favorite mug.
She sipped the strong, dark brew. “Heaven.”
“Sit. Your breakfast awaits, my lady.”
She did as he requested. “You’re spoiling me.”
“I could do more if you’d allow it.”
She met his gaze, finding nothing but sincerity in the warm chocolate depths.
He set a plate in front of her. “The guys are stopping by to look at the info I obtained last night.”
Trella said grace before biting into a piece of sausage, savoring the taste of sage.
Carlos joined her at the table with a plate barely visible under the pile of his food. “Ready to talk about it?”
She lifted a forkful of fluffy eggs to her mouth. “Delish.” She sipped her juice. “I overheard Hector.”
“Talking to whom?”
“I didn’t hear an
yone else, so he had to be on the phone. He mentioned the drop was still going down as planned.”
She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “He told someone he wanted no mistakes this time, and because of the death of a detective, they had to lay low and had missed out on a lot of money. I couldn’t listen anymore.”
He stroked her arm. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
She sighed. “I’ve never felt so angry and helpless at the same time.”
“We’ll catch him and bring down his entire operation.”
“I had another call last night. I told whoever it was I had a trace on my line.”
Carlos grimaced. “Jose said the person is using a disposable cell, but let’s hope knowledge of the trace is motivation enough for the calls to stop.”
They finished breakfast in companionable silence. Afterward, Carlos loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.
“What’d you find in Hector’s office?”
“I’ll share it with you and the guys at the same time.”
She glanced at the clock. “We have a few hours. What say, my handsome muse and model, you sit for me?”
He groaned. “When is this torture over?”
“You should be so lucky.” She patted his rear as he bent over the dishwasher. “Change into the pajama pants you slept in.”
Carlos chuckled as she left the room.
* * * * *
When he arrived in the studio, an early morning breeze lifted the curtains. Trella dragged her easel closer to the daybed.
“Sit on the edge. Lean forward for me but not too much.”
He complied with her request.
“I want to convey that this is the morning after.”
“After what?”
“Could be after sex, after admitting feelings, after a divorce.” She shrugged. “Who knows? I leave it up to each person’s interpretation.”
He tied the ends of the drawstring at the waist of his cotton pants.
“No. Let them dangle.”
His breath hitched, and his muscles tightened as she brushed his hands away then untied the strings, allowing one to hang between his legs.
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