Stolen Pregnant Bride (Olive Skin Devils Book 3)

by Hollie Hutchins

  I knew all about what the finest meats, cooked to tender perfection, and fresh fruits and caviar and expensive wines smelled like. But something about having that many wealthy people gathered in one place made the smell revolting. Their nauseating little garden parties were like bubbles of wealth and privilege that they all paraded around in like nothing in the world could ever harm them.

  It was my life's calling to prove to them how wrong they were. To let them know that they weren't infallible or unreachable, and at any moment...there could be a wolf stalking from a distance, just waiting to destroy their precious little cushioned lives.

  That's exactly what I was doing from the darkened line of trees, watching and waiting for my chance to strike. The music and laughter drifted through the air and only made me hungrier for revenge. It had been three years since I got out of jail, and every second I didn't spend rebuilding my empire, I spent it waiting for a moment just like this.

  The kind of wealth I had was different from theirs because it was earned, not just handed down to me through birth, all wrapped in a bow. I worked for every penny I had, and each one was only more valuable because it came from beating them at their own game. They had designed an elaborate system to keep guys like me at the bottom, far away from their world. I knew that system even better than they did because I found every hole and crack in it I could to milk my fortune out of it. I lived on the outside, making my own way and my own money.

  I scanned the crowd and spotted Mr. Garcia. I remembered his face well, even if he had rounded out and lost some hair since that day in court. I would never forget the disgusted look he gave me like I was the scum of the earth simply for existing. He didn't think I deserved to live anywhere but behind bars, so I would be out of sight and out of his way.

  I took a long drag from my cigarette and tossed it to the ground. That makes two of us, I thought, because I found him to be just as disgusting.

  But then my eyes drifted to his smiling, happy son. Poor pitiful Paul Garcia. A naive, rich, spoiled brat who wouldn't know a day of hard work if it bit him in his ass. He didn't have to earn his money, and he didn't have to earn his wife. His family bought that up for him too and dropped her at his feet, no matter how undeserving he was. I could tell by his face that he had some kindness in him. Any wrongdoing he contributed to was probably out of not knowing any better, which meant that it probably never occurred to him that he could be undesirable to a woman being forced to marry him. He probably thought he loved her.

  He was feeble enough that I could easily kill him. I could act quickly and do it right then and there, horrifying all the guests - ruining their perfect party. His blood wouldn't cover the price of losing both of my parents, who withered away slowly under the Garcias' rule, but it would be a start. Killing him, though, would do nothing at the end of the day. They'd mourn and move on, and I'd be no richer for it.

  No, I had my eyes on a different target. I had to stick to the original plan, which would bring them grief and suffering and make me filthy rich while I was at it. My guys and I had an escape route in place for when it was all over. I knew I'd never get caught. It was all too perfect and easy - like taking candy from a baby. That's exactly what I was doing to Paul, being so baby-like as he was. But his father was nowhere near as innocent.

  I picked apart the crowd with my eyes until finally, I saw her. I recognized her from the paper and all the research I had done. Jada Chavez, one of three sisters. Raised by their single mother in the slums. Their American father bestowed a fortune on them when he died, and Jada's older sister, Elaina, had married well. But they needed the arrangement with Paul Garcia to secure their place. They had a taste of the good life and planned to keep it by playing the game, following all the rules. They were stupid, I thought. Poor people like them should have known better than to try and play the rich man's game.

  Jada was a petite but curvy Hispanic beauty with long chestnut curls and an oval face with big brown eyes that I could tell were captivating, even from so far away. She had big perfect red lips that spread into a beautiful smile. She was the type who smiled slowly, thinking everything over carefully. She always looked a little coy, like she was keeping a secret. I studied her carefully, reminding myself that a guy like Paul didn't deserve a woman like that. He may have her eventually, but not without a fight first.

  I knew Jada was a beauty from the pictures I had seen, but in person, she was even more alluring. She was poised and moved gracefully - nothing like what you'd expect of new money. Her eyes looked dark and haunted, and she had a certain "calculativeness" about her. The way she slipped in between party guests and snuck another glass of champagne here and there. She was an escape artist when it came to the obnoxious rich people she was surrounded by. She humored them, floating around, never letting any of them corner her in.

  I liked her already, but I quickly shoved all of that down. I couldn't grow sentimental towards her. I had to be ready to kill her if it came down to it. It didn't matter that she was innocent in all of this. She was a bargaining chip caught up in the wrong game. She should have known better, growing up the way she did. But maybe I was giving her too much credit. Her sisters sold themselves off in the auction after all. Maybe all three of them were just looking for a rich man to take care of them - nothing like my hardworking mother.

  The longer I watched, the more in danger I became of becoming a little too tender towards this Jada Chavez. There was something about her. She didn't seem entranced by all the beautiful people and their money. She appeared bored...uninterested. Why did she bother with them, I wondered. She had her own money now. Why did she need their acceptance to be content? It felt a little like watching one of your own go over enemy lines and sell out into their world. She knew the struggles of poverty, or so I heard. So why bother with these people?

  When Jada wasn't expecting it, I watched Paul swoop her up from behind and force her into a dance. Her body tensed up, but she put on a big smile and let herself get carried away to the music while everyone around laughed and clapped. Everyone was watching them especially close, which confirmed my suspicions that this whole charade was Paul's big proposal show. It was a terrible match. A real woman of substance, and a scrawny man child who knew nothing about the world.

  I made out her sisters in the crowd and noted how they were also beautiful. Nothing like their youngest sister though. Jada surpassed them all, in my opinion. And then I spotted who I suspected was their mother. She stuck out like a sore thumb with her colorful wrap and skirt. It was the way old working women in the city dressed - the ones without money. Her body looked broken down and her skin was wrinkled. She had aged differently than the rich women around her, and she didn't fit in. She reminded me of my mother. It must have made her happy to see her daughters accepted into this world that she had only ever dreamed of her whole life.

  The music got louder and people drank more. They danced and oohed and awed over Jada and her prince, Paul. They scarfed down food and talked and laughed. It was all so frighteningly perfect. Like one big performance in their bubble - oblivious to the suffering of hardworking people all over the country. I watched the waiters, the waitresses, and the musicians. Every so often one of the rich snobs would snap at them for a tiny mistake. Those were my people, and I was avenging them just as much as my own family.

  I continued prowling past the edges of their perfect little world. I had seen enough. I was itching to do something. I didn't need all of the little reminders about what they deserved...all that they had coming to them. I knew it all by heart...deep in my bones.

  I watched Jada carefully, planning my next move. She had broken free of Paul's insistence to dance and was now enduring another round of small talk from different guests. Her sisters were smiling, looking very pleased, and came over to whisper things into her ear. Jada smiled back politely, but I could tell she wasn't happy.

  Jada tried more and more to find corners of the party where she could be left alone. She'd sneak away for seconds
at a time, throwing back another glass of champagne, before someone would suck her back into the crowd. She was the belle of the ball, and I wondered if she knew why. Soon, Paul would get down on one knee. She would have to say yes. She would be lost to this tedious world of frivolity forever.

  Her smiles became tighter, then less frequent. She was already tired of playing along. I watched as she slinked off further and further away from the crowd. All at once, she realized no one was around, and no one was looking at her. She took off running like a wild deer, bolting to freedom from a group of hunters. She ran like her life depended on it until she had vanished over the hill.

  I sank back further into the shroud of the trees and slowly began to walk in the direction of the creek that sat at the bottom of that hill she had just disappeared over. This was my chance...the one I had been waiting for all these years. I would find Jada by the water, and she would never suspect all that I had planned for her and the despicable Garcia family.

  Chapter 4

  Jada

  My cheeks hurt from faking so many smiles, and I thought if I had to hear one more person gush about how happy Paul and I would be together once we were married, I might vomit. Maybe my dress was too tight. Maybe it was the endless stream of alcohol and horderves I had been stuffing myself with all night. Whatever was bugging me was swirling around inside with an intensity that only grew with each passing minute, and every new person I had to pretend to be nice to.

  I played along. Paul was nice and handsome. If I was going to be married off to someone, he's the right kind of guy you could hope for. I didn't have to worry that he would be cruel or have a terrible temper. He was too sweet-natured for that. Everything about him reeked kindness, even if it was matched by his privilege and naivety. He never asked about the life I lived before we acquired our inheritance and the hacienda. It was as if he only ever wanted to know me as the woman his mother deemed acceptable as his wife. Nothing from before mattered...or even existed, it seemed.

  I couldn't figure out why the thought of his proposal and everything after it felt so suffocating all of a sudden. I knew this was coming. I had accepted my fate. This was not the time to be freaking out about it - not at the party, right there in front of everyone. I needed to get away and catch my breath before I embarrassed myself, my sisters, or Paul.

  I had wandered to the edge of the crowd and somehow managed to float beneath everyone's radar just enough to be unnoticed as I fled the scene. I took off running over the hill, hoping to God that no one chased after me. By the time I reached the little stream of water, I felt safe. No one was calling out for me or following behind. I had escaped. At least for a little while.

  At the risk of ruining my dress, I sat on a rock at the water's edge and slid my feet out of my satin, bejeweled heels. It was absurd to wear such flamboyant shoes when they were covered up by the bottom of my gown anyway. My toes curled with relief as I freed them from the damn things and then dipped them into the water. Finally, I could breathe again. I rolled my head back and closed my eyes, ignoring the distant sounds of the party. All that mattered was the sound of the trickling water and the crickets chirping in the woods.

  "The water is a bit cold, isn't it?" a man's voice appeared suddenly, causing me to jump.

  It startled me so much that I nearly fell face forward into the stream. "I'm sorry?" I gasped, trying to compose myself.

  "The water is cold this time of day," he said again with a smile. "Or at least it seems like it would be."

  I was finally able to take him in - the tall, dark, handsome man in front of me. He had to be a guest from the party, but I hadn't noticed him all evening. For a moment, I was sucked into his deep brown eyes that glistened with charm. His smile was warm and inviting, even a little mischievous. He was dressed well, but not pretentiously the way many of the other men were. His long black waves were pulled into a knot at the back of his neck in the most adorable tousled look.

  "Oh," I shook my head, trying to break myself from his spell. "No, it's not too bad. Or maybe I just hadn't noticed. I was feeling a little claustrophobic, so the coolness of it is nice. It's...comforting."

  "I don't care much for these things either," he confessed before pointing to the rock next to mine. "May I?"

  The more I stared at him, and the longer he spoke, the more intoxicating he became. He moved gallantly, even in the few waves and gestures I had seen. His voice was a low rumble that was already threatening to stir up all of my most deeply buried fantasies. He didn't like these stupid parties, and he was nothing like Paul. It was a recipe for disaster. I needed to tell him it wasn't a good idea for him to sit next to me, but I couldn't help myself. I nodded for him to sit against all my better judgment.

  He did and also began removing his shoes, sliding his feet into the water. "You're right. It's not so bad."

  I smiled back at him like an idiot, or at least I was certain that was how I looked. But it was the first genuine smile that had come to me all evening, and it felt good. It seemed to stretch different muscles than the fake ones I had been donning for everyone.

  "So...do you often run away from parties to let your feet take a swim?" he asked after a long, bewildering silence.

  "It appears so," I replied. "Or maybe if I haven't made a habit of it before, I will start now."

  "Habits and vices can be a wonderful thing," he grinned, melting me inside.

  The way it rolled off his tongue sounded like an invitation. I started to feel flush, unable to stop myself from wondering what other sorts of vices he could introduce me to. He was a little older than me and seemed wise...or at least confident. I wanted him to teach me whatever he could, no matter how absurd that sounded when we had only just met.

  "That's what people tell me," I answered grimly, wishing it would stop taking me so long to find the words to speak to his man. "I can't say I've ever been able to indulge in those sorts of things."

  "What a shame. I make a point to indulge in anything and everything as much as I can."

  Our eyes met, and I was certain I didn't just imagine this spark between us. It was more than just a spark. It was the threat of a raging fire that might consume me whole if I dared to get too close. He seemed to be inviting me with his stare.

  "Except for garden parties," I laughed.

  "Parties can be defined in many different ways," he suggested, waving at the flowers around us. "This is as good of a garden as any, I'd say. Better even because it's a natural and wild one. And you are by far more interesting than any of the guests at the former party we were attending. I think this might be my favorite garden party I've ever attended...right here, with just you and me."

  My smile grew even wider, though I hadn't thought it possible, and my cheeks grew hot with color. "Something about this party seems more interesting."

  His eyes sparkled. "Far more interesting! Maybe even a little...scandalous."

  My heart jumped with the prospect. Yes. Scandal. That's what I wanted...What I needed.

  "Very scandalous indeed," I raised a brow and flashed a coy grin. "I'm the guest of honor, you know. And I have a feeling we have all been dragged here for a very public spectacle of Paul Garcia proposing to me. His mother would probably faint if she knew I was out here alone, talking to a strange man. She doesn't believe a guy and a girl should have any alone time until after there is a ring on her finger, and maybe even not until after the vows have been said."

  "I would say 'congratulations', but you don't seem too thrilled."

  I shrunk in a little puddle of guilt. I shouldn't have been hinting at my unhappiness to anyone - especially not to someone I didn't know with the party carrying on without us. What if he knew Paul or the Garcias? He did, or he wouldn't be in attendance. What if he ratted me out?

  "Don't worry," he whispered, seeming to read my mind. "I won't tell anyone. Just promise me that you see the potential to fall madly in love with him. There's no point in bothering with love or marriage unless there's a sort of ravenous pa
ssion behind it all. The kind of stuff they write erotic books and poems about."

  I knew I needed to stop this. This man somehow knew all the juiciest words to squeeze into his sentences, and they were inspiring things in me I didn't need to be feeling. Not here with Paul on the other side of the hill. Not ever, because by the end of the night, I would be engaged. But then again...when would I ever have a chance to have my own little slice of mischief and adventure, if not in some fleeting, stolen moments like this?

  "How will I know?" I finally asked. "Let's say he's allowed to kiss me after he puts that ring on my finger. How will I even know what ravenous passion feels like?"

  His eyes looked back into mine intently, and I could see an idea developing. His smile faded, and he seemed to be moving closer to me, ever so slowly. But it was hard to tell because the earth beneath me no longer felt solid.

  "I could show you," he suggested in a deep, sexy rasp.

  There was no mistaking it. He was moving in closer, and rather than jumping to my feet and running away as I should have, I was moving right back towards him. My neck craned up to him and my eyes closed, my lips parting. I waited until I felt the warm pressure of his lips gently touching mine. It was soft enough to remind me of butterfly wings, but all at once, they opened, urging mine to follow. His hand spread across my face and throat and his tongue rolled into my mouth.

  I lost myself in the dance of our lips and tongues. Everything in my head was screaming for me to stop, but my body was rolling with an exquisite warmth that brought all of my thoughts and reservations to a screeching halt. But the man's hands did not halt. Far from it. Our kiss deepened and they began exploring the length of my upper thigh. It moved up my ribs, and I noticed my dress was feeling tighter than ever. His touch brushed along my cleavage, making me moan.

  The sound made him pull away with questioning eyes. He seemed to be asking if I wanted more. I couldn't possibly say I did out loud. I needed him to read my mind and know that I needed him to keep going more than I had ever needed anything in my entire life. I didn't want to ruin it with words. I wanted us to lose ourselves in skin and heat and wetness.