He laughs hard. “No, I have lots of security.”
“What’s your day-to-day schedule?”
“I wake early and drive to my coffee and cacao plantations. They’re five minutes down the road. The farms eat most of my time, but I take off weekends like anyone else.”
“Sorry.” My head is spinning. “You own coffee and—what?”
“Cacao,” he repeats, grinning. “Er—it makes chocolate. I run a bean to bar business. It means we’re responsible for every level of production until the finished product.”
“You make chocolate for a living, and you’re single.” I stare at him. “How come you never found a woman?”
“I did.” He strokes my cheek.
My skin heats like a lamp. Warmth blazes between my thighs.
A smirk tiptoes across his face. “If you’re tired, there’s a bed on board.”
“Show me.”
He unbuckles himself and beckons me. My heart gallops miles ahead. He brings me through rooms straight from a Pottery Barn catalog. There are coffee tables. Rugs. Hell, there’s even art bolted to the walls. He takes me into the bathroom, which is roomier than most studios in San Francisco.
Everything is laid in white marble, and a spotless, oval mirror stands over the sink. I gape at my surroundings and at the gorgeous man wearing a black polo. He looks at me the way I’ve always craved someone to look at me.
August touches my waist, eyes naked with desire. “If you’ve ever wanted to join the mile-high club, here’s your opportunity.”
“It’s not big enough for both of us.” I’m a heartbeat away from stripping my clothes. He’s perfect. And he’s here.
“You’ve been amazing.” Why should I hesitate? “I didn’t expect this.”
He smooths the hair from my neck. “Don’t thank me yet. You don’t know what you’re in for.”
“A lifetime with you.” I smile at his reflection. “Where’s my refund?”
“Smartass.” He taps my ass and walks out.
I follow him into a bedroom. Unlike the rest of the plane, it’s a Spartan room with a bed and two nightstands. I sit on the mattress, amazed by its comfort. “Is this where you ask me to reenact our phone sex?”
He drops to his knees, grit creeping into his voice. “I wasn’t planning on asking.”
“Oh.” My breathing hitches as he circles my midriff.
“You wanted me to take charge. Remember?” He plays with my blouse, dragging his finger along my exposed skin.
Our filthy conversations replay in my mind with astonishing clarity. I can’t believe I told a stranger to lick my pussy, but he’s not a random guy on my contacts list anymore.
He’s my fiancé.
“What is it? Still shy?”
Overwhelmed. “This feels like a dream.”
Hovering closer, August’s mouth brushes mine. “I’m real. And all yours.”
I’ve waited months, and I’m not wasting a second with him.
His lips sting me with the snap of an electrical current. I gasp at the shock, nerves firing on all cylinders. His fingers bite my waist as he pushes me backward. I sink into the comforter, hands diving into his hair.
His tongue dances over mine as he touches me in broad strokes. He yanks my shirt over my ribs. My straps hook in his thumbs. He snaps the fabric against me. With a rough tug, he pulls both straps down. Cold air stings my nipples before his palms replace my bra.
As he caresses me, I touch him. I remove his polo and grope the cord of muscle rippling through his arms. He bites, deepening the kiss. I choke when he flicks my nipple. They harden into points.
He breaks from me with a low growl, red-faced and grinning. “You’ve got me all worked up. Seeing you in photos was one thing. Touching you, tasting you, is another.”
Please fuck me. I can’t say it.
He traces my swollen mouth. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m nervous, I guess.”
“I thought hours of listening to me describe how I’d fuck you would relax you.” He pinches me, forehead against mine. “You know what’s coming.”
Yes, I do.
He’ll rip my panties off and free that bulge against his jeans. I’ll wrap my legs around his waist. He’ll stroke my thighs and warm my clit, priming my body for his.
And then he’ll fuck me. “What are you waiting for?”
He grips my jaw, kissing me. “I’m trying to be gentle.”
“You’re not soft.”
August had given me a no-holds-barred account of what he liked. He warned me he wasn’t tender, and he didn’t lie. He trembles from the effort of not tearing my clothes.
“I’m not,” he says in a strained voice. “But I should try for your sake.”
Suddenly, the jet dips. My stomach fills with a diving sensation. I clutch his shoulders, biting a scream.
He nuzzles my neck. “Re-lax.”
“This fucking plane.” I cling to him, ignoring his chuckle.
He releases a frustrated growl. “What’ll calm you?”
“Not being in the sky.”
“That works.” He breathes a sigh. “You’ll be near the stars by the time I’m done with you.”
God.
“Now?” My pulse races. “With the bodyguards in screaming distance?”
“There will always be someone in the next room.”
I meet his scorching gaze, once again pulled within their depths. A thrill runs through me.
I still don’t know who he is.
Anticipation needles my chest. He unzips my jeans. They snag my hips as he pulls them with my panties. His stare travels down my thighs, growing in ravenous hunger. I’m stripped bare.
I feel wanted. Needed.
He strokes my curves, satisfied enough to touch. It’s as though he’s pleased with his prey. After a long pause, he kisses me. His body seals against mine with a desperate fervor. He yanks my head, kissing me with bruising force.
A chime shatters the quiet.
August’s eyes flare like two small suns when it rings again. “Fuck.”
He growls into my neck, uttering a quick apology before rolling to grab his cell on the nightstand. Whoever’s name flickers on the screen fills August with bitterness.
He takes the call. Rapid-fire Spanish pours from his mouth. The only word I recognize is no.
“No, no, no.”
I sit up, twisting my hands in the sheets. Something’s wrong. My stomach sinks even lower. Do we have to turn back?
“Hijo de puta.” He hurls the phone. It smashes against the wall and rains glass.
“Jesus, August!” I shove myself off the bed, heart slamming into my ribs. “What’s the matter with you?”
August blinks from my indignation, snapping from his fury. He shakily runs a hand through his locks. “I’m—I’m sorry.”
I seize my bra and panties, hugging them to my chest. “What happened?”
Agony twists his handsome face. “Nothing.”
I won’t press him. Not when he cooled from that bull-like rage. I dress quickly and leave the room.
That’s not the man I love. August doesn’t throw things in fits of passion.
Who am I kidding?
I don’t know him.
What the hell did I get myself into?
Chat Archive (1/23/17)
Lily: Talking to you was a lot more fun than I expected. If I’m being honest, I assume every guy on the internet lives in their mother’s basement and has a neckbeard. But your voice is really confident. Husky.
August: Husky? Does that mean I sound fat?
Lily: Haha. No. I meant, masculine. You roll your r’s a lot, which makes me think…you’re not from the United States.
August: Hmm. Am I?
Lily: You’re such a tease. What’s with all the secrets?
August: Keeps you on your toes. Plus, it’s more exciting if I’m a mystery.
Lily: For now. Eventually it might get on my nerves. :P
August: We
wouldn’t want that. What if I told you other things about myself?
Lily: Like what?
August: There’s plenty you don’t know. I’m a huge fan of Melissa McCarthy. I love romantic comedies. Amy Winehouse was the voice of our generation.
Lily: Those are likes and dislikes, August. Not exactly deep insights into your soul.
August: Ah, I get it. You want a real connection, not meaningless fluff. Fine. Then I’ll tell you this. I can’t tell you much about my background because…I don’t trust you. Not yet. I doubt you’d believe me anyway.
Lily: Ooh, the plot thickens. All right. I’ll play along. Are you a member of royalty? A Navy SEAL? Oh—a politician?
August: No, no, and no. Sorry to burst your bubble. I live in a place that’s warm year-round and doesn’t lack for fresh fruit. I spend most of my time outdoors. That’s about all I’m comfortable divulging—for now. If you want more information, you’ll have to earn it.
Lily: Why do I get the feeling you’re about to ask me for nude photos?
August: LOL. No. Tempting, but no. I doubt that’d go over well.
Lily: You were at least thinking it.
August: Just because I appreciate your looks doesn’t mean I’m going to start an exchange for nudes. That’s not right. If a woman sends me naughty photos, I want it to be because she’s into me.
Lily: I am interested, that’s for sure. I have no problem admitting a stranger on the internet seduced me with his voice. Maybe it’s because I know so little about you.
August: Or maybe I’m just better than all the men you’ve dated.
Lily: Is that what we’re doing?
August: I wish I could take you out. If I lived anywhere near, I would. You and I would make such a hot couple.
Lily: Sigh.
August: What’s wrong?
Lily: Nothing…I’m just kinda sad today. See you later.
7
We’re here.
The air is so thick, I can’t breathe. It’s like walking in a steam room. My hair refuses to lie flat. After a lifetime of dry summers, it’s strange to find a world so green and wet. And warm.
It’s different. I like it.
As soon as we disembarked, August ushered me into a car packed with men. I hesitate on that word because I’ve never known bodyguards to strap assault rifles to their chests. The closest I’ve ever seen are photos of airport security in New York City, but those were police officers. And it doesn’t help that I do not understand the conversation around me.
Not that August is saying much. He’s crammed in the seat beside me, his jaw locked in tension. I don’t ask what’s wrong, but his continued silence needles at my calm. I console myself with the fact we’re surrounded by an arsenal of weapons.
Even weirder is the regal-like attention they give to my fiancé. When he speaks, everyone falls silent, and August doesn’t have to raise his voice. They defer to him for all decisions, which strikes me as odd. He’s the son of a general. That does not make him God.
My stomach knots as I mull it over. I study him for clues, finding nothing. He watches the lush landscape roll past, bitterness curling his lip.
I touch his arm. “Okay, enough with the suspense. What the hell is this?”
August attempts a grin. “I’m just not thrilled to be back.”
Bullshit. My guess is he can’t speak freely. I swallow my questions and focus on the scenery.
The sky darkens to a midnight blue, turning plants into long, swaying shadows. Their leaves are like jagged teeth fanning in the wind. An hour passes. Maybe more. We arrive at a checkpoint. The driver exchanges money with guards who wave us through.
August breathes a sigh of relief, his face splitting with his first real smile since we landed. “Everything will be fine.”
August told me we’d land, take a brief drive, and be home. If this is his idea of quick, I’m not going on any more road trips.
Finally, the driver taps the window. I spot an off-white, mission-style villa sprawling over several acres of cleared jungle. Lights illuminate its huge archways carved into massive adobe walls. A low-pitched roof with projecting eaves stands over an enclosed courtyard.
A gate bars us from entry. Everywhere I look, soldiers wearing fatigues stand at sentry with rifles.
Jesus. This is insane.
Why does he need so much security for a place like this? It’s tucked away from civilization.
The guard sitting in the booth steps out and glances inside. He utters a greeting to August, who nods. The bar shudders open. We roll into the driveway parked with military vehicles.
“This is where you live?”
He sighs as though it’s a disappointment. “Not what you expected, right?”
Hell no.
We exit the car, and I breathe in the scent of thick vegetation. The estate is richly landscaped. We walk into the courtyard and I gape at the gigantic arcades. It’s beautiful, but the presence of guards ruins the peacefulness.
Outdoor furniture surrounds a fountain, which plays in the background. I admire the architecture as August rattles orders in Spanish.
A troop of men decorated in black and gold approaches us. A man with striking features walks at the head of the party. Salt and pepper hair flows in a wave to his neck. A trimmed beard almost hides his smile.
“Augusto,” he booms. The man extends his arms, pulling my fiancé into a reluctant hug.
They dialogue in terse phrases. August gestures toward me. “Americana.”
The older man laughs, pounding August’s arm. Then he reaches me, stepping far too close into my personal space.
“Lily, this my father.”
“Luis Espada.” He embraces me, kissing both cheeks. “Welcome, Lily.”
Blood rushes to my skin. “Thank you.”
So this is the infamous general. Something about his dad stalls my breath. Maybe it’s the uniform or the obvious strain between them. Maybe it’s because I can’t understand anything.
His broad smile fails to break the tension. “Let’s show you to your room.”
My stomach clenches at being separated from August, but I don’t want to deny someone who makes my fiancé so uncomfortable.
With a blast between his lips, he summons a woman in her fifties with deep, olive skin and black hair streaked with gray. She beckons me. I follow her into the arcades, leaving August in the courtyard with his father. Perhaps it’s the lighting casting dramatic shadows, but the conversation looks unhappy.
What the hell is going on?
“My name is Rosa,” she says, drawing my attention away. “Nice to meet you.”
“Lily.”
I accompany her through corridors flanked with soldiers. Finally, we duck into a set of double doors. It’s cooler inside, and I miss the heat immediately.
Portraits hang on the adobe walls. Many of them depict the same man, August’s father. Weird. Wall lights flicker as we stroll along the magnificent foyer. The design is bold and masculine. We climb a sweeping staircase covered with a black and gold rug.
“Señor Espada’s room is here.” She opens the door, revealing a sparse bedroom. There’s a king-sized bed, an armoire, two nightstands, and that’s it.
I expected it to reflect the grandiose architecture of the outside, but it’s as though this was purged of all décor. I approach the French doors, which lead to a balcony with outdoor chairs and a sofa.
Rosa touches my shoulder. “Look.”
Smiling at my awe, she shows me the walk-in closet. It’s stocked with a rainbow of women’s clothing. “All yours. It’s all in your size.”
“What?” I take one of the chiffon blouses and check. “Wow. How did he—”
“Señor told us you wouldn’t have much.” Her mocha eyes glow. “I hope you like them.”
“Thank you—that’s—that’s very generous. I love them.” There are more clothes in here than I’ve worn in my entire life. I browse the dresses, jaw dropping at the designer threads. “Ho
w can he afford all this? God, he got me shoes, too?”
Rosa laughs at my astonishment, pleased that I’m satisfied.
Everything I need is in here. I think of the crap I shoved in my duffel bag and patches of heat rise to my cheeks. “I don’t deserve all this.”
Rosa gives my arm a friendly squeeze. “This is your home, Lily. Dinner is at eight. The general will expect you there.” Rosa breezes past me, yanking skirts from the rack. “Any of these work.”
I select a flower-patterned BCBG design that looks the most comfortable of the four. She slides a pair of pink flats from the drawer.
Seven and a half.
He asked for my measurements weeks ago. August planned this well in advance.
Dizzy, I hold the dress to my body. “Thanks.”
“Do you have questions?”
“Why are there so many guards?” The pitch-blackness doesn’t quite shroud the gate manned by soldiers. "What is this place?"
She bites her fuchsia lip. “They're protection for Señor Espada. This is your fiancé's home.”
“Who the hell needs this much security?”
“His father serves the head of state. President Cortés.”
My jaw drops. I recognize the name.
Everyone in California does. He’s a tyrant who’s jailed thousands to keep the status quo. A lengthy civil war sends scores of refugees across the border every year.
“He said we were going to Colombia!” He fucking lied.
Uncomfortable, Rosa looks away.
The Secret Arrangement Page 4