by Sybil Bartel
“Hold up.” André punched a code into a keypad by the garage door. “Let me put the bike away, and we’ll head to the boat.”
A decent-sized boat sat at the end of the dock, but I had no idea if decent-sized boats had decent-sized bathrooms, and I was desperate to wash off the past three days. “I need a shower.”
The garage door slid up, and he pushed the bike inside a half-empty space. The only thing in the garage besides raw concrete walls and André’s bike was a tarp covered pile of what looked like building supplies.
André threw the kickstand down, grabbed his gun from the bike’s holster, then hung our helmets on the handlebars. He tipped his head toward a set of stairs at the back of the garage. “Come on, you can grab a shower in the main house.”
He shut the garage door, and I followed him up the stairs to a door with another keypad.
“You and Viking have a thing for keypad locks?” His condo in Miami had the same thing. None of the doors in the compound even had keyed locks, except for River’s office in the main building, and the weapons hold.
André punched in a code and looked over his shoulder at me. The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Technology, chica.” He winked.
My version of technology was Google on my smartphone. Never knowing a damn thing growing up, except what few books River allowed some of the women to use to teach us math, it made me appreciate the simple things like a search engine. Being able to look anything up, anytime, was a luxury most people had no clue they were lucky to have.
“Excessive technology,” I countered.
He pushed the door open and quickly scanned the open-plan space. “I don’t call electronic entry excessive when I can use an app to see who’s come and gone and if any perimeter security was breached.”
“Perimeter security?” Like what? “The snakes and lizards in the palmetto shrubs are going to break into Viking’s place and have a party on his perfect couch?” It was like a museum in the damn place. Granite counters and floors, shiny white kitchen cabinets, pristine windows that looked liked they’d been cleaned an hour ago. Perfectly plumped pillows on a perfectly white leather couch. I dropped the backpack on the coffee table as I stared out at the perfect turquoise water view. I both hated and loved the place.
André checked the slider door locks. “Very funny. Driveway, yard, dock, second-and third-floor decks, all perimeter security, all monitored.” He walked down a hall and looked in each room, then came back. “You can shower upstairs.” He went to the kitchen.
I stood there a minute, indecision clouding my head.
“We’re on a schedule, chica.”
I turned. Bottles of water were already on the kitchen counter as André pulled sandwiches in deli paper and those plastic takeout containers of food from the fridge and set them next to the drinks. I was suddenly starving. “His house even comes with food?”
“Neil has his caretaker stock the fridge whenever anyone uses the place.” He pulled a cooler from under the sink and started throwing everything inside.
“Uh-huh.” Because who didn’t have a caretaker to bring them takeout food?
“Master bathroom’s upstairs.”
I didn’t move.
André shut the cooler and looked at me.
I’d seen two sides of him, the marine and the man. The marine always had a locked-down expression. His eyes gave nothing away except calculated intelligence. And when he wasn’t in marine mode, he was usually in flirt mode. At least half his mouth would tip up, mischief would light up his eyes, and a solid dose of unadulterated joy that I’d never understood would shine through. But this right now? This wasn’t either of those looks. His gaze moving, his eyes scanning, a crease cut between his eyebrows, and he studied me like I was a goddamn specimen.
Indecision bled into defiance, and I threw down a dare. I pulled my shirt over my head.
His chest rose with an inhale, and he held my gaze, but otherwise he didn’t move.
My nipples hardened, in anticipation, in lust, in sheer desire for this game we were playing. Determined to get a reaction out of him, one way or another, I undid my jeans and pushed them down my legs, nice and slow. Stepping out of my boots, I stood in matching underwear and stared right back at him.
His hands on the counter balled into fists and he broke the silence first. “There a point to this little striptease?”
Rough and deep, his voice scraped across my skin like sandpaper, and for a second, I lost the upper hand as I let my eyes close just so I could listen to his voice.
“Chica.”
My eyes opened as if he’d issued a command, and I locked in on his dark stare. His nostrils flared, his muscles bunched and a predatory look descended over the cut angles of his face.
I shivered.
A growl crawled up his throat. “Walk away,” he warned. “Right now.”
I always aimed for the upper hand. I manipulated with my words to maintain control, but I never let my guard down. And I never gave a piece of myself away. Ever. But the second he’d growled out a demand, the last of my indecision disintegrated.
I wanted this man at whatever cost.
Deep and irrevocable, the desire was so absolute that I knew there was no coming back. My head spinning, my palms sweating, my core aching, I did the only thing I knew to do to show him what’d just happened.
I dropped to my knees.
JESU-FUCKING-CRISTO.
Scraps of lace barely covered her lush tits and shaved pussy. I couldn’t even swear in one language. My dick pounding, I stared at the curve of her hips and the smooth skin on her thighs. I cut to the wet material between her legs, and my mouth fucking watered.
She was gorgeous, so damn gorgeous, but the second she dropped to her knees, she became dangerous.
I needed to walk the hell away.
But I didn’t.
A challenging sass mouth in public and a submissive in private, all wrapped up in a strong-as-fuck curvy woman with hazel eyes that destroyed my mission objective. God was taunting me, and I didn’t give a single fuck.
I stalked toward her.
My boots inches from her knees, I stopped and did what I never should’ve done with someone like her. I barked out an order. “Stand up.”
Small, delicate hands hit the floor and she gracefully leveraged herself up to her full height.
In bare feet, the top of her head barely brushed my pecs. “Look at me,” I demanded.
She lifted her head, and when her sexy eyes met mine, she licked her lips.
Madre de Dios.
Nothing came out of her smart mouth.
Not one goddamn word.
“You know what you’re doing?” She couldn’t possibly. Not with me.
“Yes.”
No game in her tone, she didn’t reply with an ounce of sarcasm, and that was more alarming than anything she’d ever said to me. I’d wanted this woman for far too long. This wasn’t a fuck and release. That first kiss in my condo was burned in my brain, and I wanted so goddamn much more. But I didn’t trust a single thing about her.
I dragged a finger across her jaw. “I’m not playing games, chica.” She was going to commit to fighting, or put her fucking clothes back on.
Her throat moved with a swallow, and a hint of defiance crept into her voice. “I don’t want to talk.”
That right there was why I wasn’t playing her fucking game. If she couldn’t commit to saving her own ass, she wasn’t going to give me shit. We both knew she was fucked five ways from Sunday, and her background made her a liability even I didn’t know how to mitigate. She was a hot fucking mess, and I’d never wanted anything more in my life. But if we were doing this, it was gonna be my way or no way.
“Good.” I waited for a reaction but got none. Her actions were loud and clear a minute ago. I knew exactly what she was saying when she’d dropped to her knees, but I wasn’t fucking trusting it. “I don’t trust words, chica.”
“I don’t trust, period.”
I ran my finger down her throat and over her collarbone, purposely not acknowledging her statement.
She shivered.
I dropped my voice. “Walk back three steps.”
Doing exactly as I told her, her back hit the wall.
My hands landed on either side of her head and my mouth went to her ear. “You’re going to trust me.”
Goose bumps raced up her neck. “Maybe.”
“You are or you aren’t. Simple choice.” And weighted as fuck, because her answer would determine my next move.
She reached for the hem of my shirt. “I’m done talking.”
No, she fucking wasn’t. “You touch me right now, this stops,” I warned.
She paused midlift of my shirt, then she dropped her hands back to her sides. “You said we didn’t have a lot of time.”
“I said we were on a schedule.” She wanted to get dirty, I’d make the fucking time, but not before we talked about this.
“Same difference.”
I smiled at her defiance and moved my mouth to just under her ear. “Trust, chica. You giving it to me?”
Her shoulders dropped with an exhale. “Define trust.”
I picked a seemingly random question. “What’s your middle name?”
“I don’t have one. Decima was my only name. It was first, last and middle, and all River Ranch.”
I hated the answer as much as I wanted to pump my fucking fist in victory. Only her trust in me would have made her answer like that. “You undressed for me?”
“You know I did.”
I ignored the taste of petulance in her tone. “You got on your knees for me?”
She hesitated. “I made a statement.”
“I saw.” I waited.
She didn’t fill the silence.
I liked that more than I should. “You ever do that for another man?”
Her pulse pounded in her neck, but she didn’t answer.
I clarified. “I don’t mean in your past.”
She didn’t hesitate. “No.”
“Good.” I brushed my lips against the pulse point in her neck. “You gave me honesty. Now I’m gonna give it back. You ready to know why I want your trust?”
Her arms still at her sides, her fists clenched. “Put your hands on me or stop fucking teasing me.”
“I’m not teasing you.” I was fucking torturing myself. “I want something.”
“What?” Irritation snapped the pronunciation of her t.
“Commitment.”
She froze.
Then she moved like a fucking tornado.
Her hands hit my chest, she pushed me the fuck back, and she bolted.
Forgetting this morning, I spun and caught her in one stride. Then all hell broke loose.
Her back arched, her head whipped back, and she kicked both of my shins. An animalistic sound filled the house, and she geared up to fight.
I had two choices.
One logical. One insane.
I choose the latter.
I threw her down on the couch. Before the split second of stunned shock wore off, I was on her. I grabbed her wrists, yanked them over her head and dropped my weight on her, enough so she’d feel it.
“Who I am?” I barked.
Her head stopped midthrash, and she looked at me. Hair on her face, her eyes wild, she sucked in a breath. “Let me go,” she growled.
“WHO am I?”
“Asshole André Luna!” she yelled.
I lowered my voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you, and I’m not an asshole.”
Her chest heaving, she stopped fighting against my hold.
I loosened my grip. “If you want me, we’re gonna talk about it.” I pushed off the couch and stood over her. “But if you just wanna fuck? Find someone else.” I stepped back. “Get up. You got twenty minutes to shower.”
Slow and calculating, she got up like she had all the time in the world, but she didn’t walk toward the stairs. She didn’t even turn away.
Her movements controlled, she reached behind her back. “Just fuck?” She undid her bra. “I’m never just a fuck.” She dropped the lace to the ground.
My dick surged, but I didn’t fucking move. “I’m sure you’re not.” When she didn’t want to be.
“Then what do we have to talk about?” She eyed my cock. “You want this.” Her hand brushed over a hard nipple. “You want me.”
It took everything I had not to fuck her right then and there. “You’re gonna have to work harder than that, chica.” Because that’s what this fucking amounted to. The second I took her, she was gonna fuck more than my cock. She already had. This woman was so twisted in my head, I didn’t just want her body. I wanted something in return.
She pinched her own nipple then reached a finger out to my junk. “I don’t think I do.” She dragged her finger the length of my cock.
I didn’t stop her, but I didn’t fucking touch her either. This wasn’t the woman who’d dropped to her knees. This was the smart-mouthed vixen I wasn’t gonna let get under my skin. “You know what I find sexy, chica?”
“A wet pussy?” She stepped closer and palmed the head of my dick through my pants.
For three whole seconds, I let it happen. Then I moved. I gripped a handful of her hair with one hand and her wrist with the other. I pulled her hair so her head fell back, and I held her arm away from my body. “A woman who knows what I want.”
“Then what the fuck do you—”
“You want a piece of me?” I jerked her head back even more and stepped into her. My hips ground into hers. “Then give me something in return. I’m not playing games. You want this? Own it. You don’t get to sample. All in, or get fucking dressed.”
She stilled. “You seriously want a commitment?” She bit the word out like it was dirty as fuck.
“You heard what I said.”
“Are you insane?”
Definitely figuratively, probably clinically. She was trouble, and I didn’t have time for anything besides my business, but here I was. “I can fuck anyone I want for a night.” But I hadn’t. Not since I’d met her.
“But not me?” She looked fucking incredulous.
“No.” I dropped my hold on her.
Her hands went to her hips. “Why the hell not?”
My gut fucking constricted, and panic squeezed the air out of my lungs, but I sucked it up and laid it out like a man. “Because you’re the only woman I’ve thought about since I first fucking saw you.”
FEAR LIKE I’D NEVER KNOWN stole my breath the same time my chest threatened to explode. I didn’t want the confused emotions swirling in my head any more than I wanted the unbearable ache between my legs every time I was near him.
I could give him what he wanted. I could agree to anything, then do what I wanted, because that’s what I always did, and walk away.
But even the thought tasted like betrayal.
A single word fell from my lips. “Scrupulous.” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a statement. It was fact, and I’d been right. He was the decision I was supposed to make.
“I’m not scrupulous, woman.” His rough voice bent the words away from their meaning until all I heard was the way he called me woman. “We have to go.” He turned toward the door.
I panicked.
Like the first time I stepped foot off the compound, or when I drove Candle to prison, I panicked. But neither of those times did I feel the sheer loss of what I felt in that very second. It was as if my entire future had just turned its back on me, and I didn’t have a choice.
But I did have a choice.
The same choice I’d had when I’d dropped to my knees. “André.” I didn’t say his name. I used the two syllables for what they were, a plea.
His shoulder rose with an inhale, and he turned.
The second his eyes met mine, I hooked my thumbs in my thong underwear, and I slid them over my hips. His gaze dropped to my pussy, and I let my underwear drop to the floor. “Okay,” I whispered.
Gooseflesh broke out across my heated skin. “Yes.”
He took the guns from his vest and thigh holster and set them both on the coffee table. Then he took off the vest and holster. “You giving it to me?”
“Yes.” The time for hesitation was gone. “But if this doesn’t work—” He pulled his T-shirt over his head one-handed, and I lost my train of thought.
Stepping up to me, both of his huge, rough hands captured my face. “Chica.” Cocky, mischievous, sexy as hell, the side of his mouth tipped up. “You doubt me?”
Oh my God, that smile. “Depends.” I doubted everything and everyone. “You gonna bring it?”
Throaty and deep, his chuckle slid across my skin like a rough caress. “No.” His smile dropped. “I’m gonna wreck it.”
His lips landed on mine.
Hot Florida sun, gun oil, mint and musk—everything all at once and nothing I’d ever dreamed of—he kissed me. His mouth captured mine, and every way a man can kiss a woman, he kissed me. But when his tongue slid against mine, it was nothing like any kiss I’d ever had.
Everything I expected him to do, he didn’t.
He didn’t slam his mouth over mine. He didn’t crush his body into mine. He didn’t desperately claw at the sexual tension threatening to drown me. His shoulders curved toward me, and with only his hands and his mouth touching my body, he lit me on fire. Soft and gentle, but so fucking dominant and demanding, he angled my head into his and kissed the ever-loving sanity out of me.
My hands wound around his thick wrists, and I held on for dear life. I didn’t kiss him back. I couldn’t. He was singularly creating this storm between us. Lust and intoxicating anticipation rolled across my body like summer thunder. I wasn’t in control of anything. He commanded my mouth like he commanded his hold on me. His thumbs stroking my cheeks, his tongue delving and coaxing, he didn’t just kiss me. His body hovering around mine, he made me feel like I was his entire world.
If this was what a single kiss from him was like, I was no longer just interested, I was addicted. Body and soul.
His forehead touched mine, and he drew back just enough to breathe me in.