by Sybil Bartel
I sucked in a surprised breath as I looked up at his beautifully fierce face, but I should’ve known the timing was too coincidental. “Hero told you.” A stillness I didn’t welcome weighted my heart, and the hope I’d been so relieved to accept only seconds ago faded.
“His name isn’t Hero.”
“I know. He told me.” André hadn’t come here because he’d found me.
His throat moved with a swallow then his jaw ticked. “You ran.”
André was only here because someone had told him exactly where to go. I wasn’t his priority. He wasn’t standing here because he’d spent day and night looking for me. “You left me no choice.”
His muscles stiffened, but he didn’t let go of me. “I gave you every choice.” He sucked in a breath, and suddenly it was as if he were trying to hold back anger and frustration. “I laid my fucking heart out for you, chica. I told you what I wanted.” His voice dropped. “I came inside you.”
The heaviness of his tone was so stark, my chest hurt. I didn’t know if it was regret tainting his voice or the same kind of pain I’d been feeling for three weeks. Either way, I wasn’t going to torture him. “I’m not pregnant.”
Air filled his lungs on a sharp inhale, but it wasn’t relief that spread across his face. His gaze cast up, and he looked over my head like he was holding the weight of the world.
His sorrowful expression crushed my fucking heart, and words spilled out. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” He sucked in another breath, then looked back down at me. “But I’m done having shit get between us.” He spoke the words as if giving them voice made them truth.
I opened my mouth to agree, because this was all I’d ever wanted, but he silenced me with a finger to my lips.
“No, you need to hear me.” His thumb glanced across my cheek. “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t fucking breathe. This has been the worst three weeks of my life, chica, and that’s saying something. I know I made mistakes, and I know you doubt me. But Jesucristo, I fucking love you, chica.”
I bit back a sob.
“Please, stop fucking running from me.”
My ugly insecurities bled out. “You didn’t chase me.” Small, pitiful, my tone like a child, the four words were no less accusing in my heart.
A growl of frustration ripped from his chest. “I don’t want to fucking chase you. I want to hold you.” His arms tightened. “Like this, every damn day.” His expression turned pained. “But I can’t—no, I won’t chase you. You gotta choose me, chica. If that’s what you want, you have to fucking choose.”
Was this what rejoicing after heartache felt like? Your heart exploding, your skin tingling, a burning in your soul to give everything you have to another person? Because this didn’t feel like love. This was so much more.
Unable to form words, I nodded.
Half the weight lifted from his features, but he didn’t smile. His voice turned to pure need as he rasped out a demand. “I need you to say it, chica.”
Tears slid down my cheeks. “I choose you.”
His lips crashed over mine, and the breath he said he hadn’t been able to breathe for three weeks was stolen from my lungs. I gave him my air. I gave him my mouth. I gave him my body. And then I let him take what he already had, my heart.
Submitting to his demanding dominance with every fiber of my being, desperate to show him how much I cared, I kissed him back. But as his tongue stroked deep and his hands reverently brushed across my branding, I realized this wasn’t caring. This was love. Body and soul, I loved him.
“Chica,” he growled, putting his forehead to mine. “I can’t be in public with you right now.” His hands slid over my hips and up my ribs, coasting under my breasts and making me moan at the almost intimate contact. “Where’s your room key?”
“Chair,” I panted. “By the pool.”
With a short grunt of disapproval, he turned into André Luna, the bodyguard. “Not safe, chica, not safe.” His huge arm went around my shoulder, and he was ushering us up the boardwalk toward the pool like there was a fire behind us.
So many emotions swirled through my heart, but the overwhelming joy of hearing him say to me what I’d never, ever heard in my life, was soul changing. With a smile on my face and tears on my cheeks, I clung to an overprotective, possessive, alpha-as-hell, sexy Cuban who growled in my ear.
“Which chair?”
Grinning, ignoring the stares of the jealous women around the pool, I pointed.
He grabbed my cover-up and room key and practically dragged me to the elevator in the lobby. But when he punched the call button like he wanted to kill it, I couldn’t hold it in.
A giggle escaped.
His arm around my shoulders pulled, and I was suddenly facing him, wrapped in two arms stronger than any part of my past. “Something funny?”
With bare feet, I stepped onto his boots and went on tiptoe. I wrapped my arms around his neck and stretched until I was almost tall enough. “You need to kiss me. Right now.”
A growl ripped from his chest as his fist slammed against the call button.
The elevator doors slid open, and his tongue plunging into my mouth stole my laugh as he walked us into the lift.
Instant need shot to my pussy, and my legs went around his hips.
“Jesu-fucking-cristo.” He slammed me against the back wall.
His hard length rubbed against my wet bikini bottom. “Ninth floor, ninth floor,” I groaned, frantic.
His mouth latched on to mine, and he took a step back.
I pushed the number nine, the doors slid shut, and then he was kissing me like a man possessed.
His tongue thrusting, his hips grinding, his hands digging into my ass, he didn’t just kiss me, he stole my heart and delivered me from doubt. Beautiful words of love in Spanish grated across his harsh rasp of a voice and landed on my skin like the rough edges that made life worth living.
The elevator door opened and his strong arms held me tight as his thick thighs took us to my room. His mouth on my lips, my neck, his words tumbling like he couldn’t hold them in, he let us into my suite, and before the door had even closed, he shoved me against the wall.
Huge hands with thick fingers deftly undid his pants then yanked my bikini bottom to the side.
“Chica.” He fisted himself.
“Wait!” I grabbed his face and breathed through the sudden panic of what I was about to do, but when I saw the storm in his eyes, calm settled into my heart.
“I love you,” I whispered.
The man of my dreams shoved into me and made me his.
***
THANK YOU!
Thank you so much for reading ANDRÉ! If you were interested in leaving a review on any retail site, I would be so appreciative. Reviews mean the world to authors, and they are helpful beyond compare!
Have you read all the books in the Uncompromising Series?
TALON
NEIL
BENNETT
CALLAN
Have you met André’s ex-Marine friends, Alex, Jared and Dane? Three male escorts, three women who bring them to their knees.
The Thrust Series
THRUST – Alex’s story
ROUGH – Jared’s story
GRIND – Dane’s story
Have you read Blaze and Layna’s story?
The Unchecked Series
IMPOSSIBLE PROMISE
IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE
IMPOSSIBLE END
Turn the page for a preview of BENNETT, the next exciting book in the Uncompromising Series!
BENNETT (The Uncompromising Series Book Four)
Bennett
Being the drummer for the hottest new rock band should’ve been a dream come true. Sold-out shows, women, more money than I deserved….
But I didn’t want any of it.
The fame sucked, the money was a burden and I’d given up my one shot at ever having her—my best friend’s sister.
I wasn’t supposed to
touch her. My best friend made me swear I wouldn’t. Then he was deployed, and he told me to look out for her. Except being around her while still keeping my distance was slowly killing me. Touring with the band should’ve been the perfect escape… until I screwed up.
I screwed up so bad, she was half-conscious in my arms, fighting for her life.
*BENNETT is the fourth standalone book in the Uncompromising Series.
The Uncompromising Series:
TALON
NEIL
ANDRÉ
BENNETT
CALLAN
Since I released my second book, I kept getting asked about the mysterious Alpha with the sexy smile who owned his own personal security firm. Eight books later, after continually appearing as one of my favorite side characters, I wrote his story.
Thank you, so much, for asking for André, for never giving up hope, and for waiting for his happily ever after! I love you all!
And for my BBHers, did I mention a time or two that André was coming?-XOXO
Sybil grew up in northern California with her head in a book and her feet in the sand. She used to dream of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew her into the world of storytelling.
Sybil now resides in southern Florida, and while she doesn’t get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she’s not writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her handsomely tattooed husband, her brilliantly practical son, and a mischievous miniature boxer.
But seriously?
Here are ten things you really want to know about Sybil.
She grew up a faculty brat. She can swear like a sailor. She loves men in uniform. She hates being told what to do. She can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaked her out. Her favorite word is desperate, or dirty, or both, she can’t choose. She has a thing for muscle cars. But never rely on her for driving directions, ever. And she has a new book boyfriend every week.
To find out more about Sybil Bartel or her books, please visit her at:
Website: sybilbartel.com
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