by Caro LaFever
Warm, callused hands slid onto her bare shoulders, stopping her flight.
Staring straight ahead, she sniffed. “Let me go, please.”
A husky grumble was her only response.
Figuring she didn’t really care who this stranger was and what he saw, she glanced up, letting her tears slide down her cheeks.
It was that guy.
That guy from earlier today.
Shock sizzled through her, and her mouth gaped open. In the midst of the glamour surrounding them, he wore a simple navy cotton T-shirt with some local brewery’s orange logo stamped on it, and gym shorts. His black hair was wet and brushed back from his face, emphasizing the clean cut of his jaw and squareness of his chin.
His eyes snagged hers.
His eyes were amazing.
The dark hair and olive skin tone should have dictated brown eyes. Instead, his were a soft, misty blue, like the fog that sometimes drifted from the ocean in the morning.
Those eyes narrowed in sudden recognition. “The princesa.”
Risa didn’t think that was a compliment, although the label was familiar as her own first name and filled with fond memories. Yet, the way the man said it, with his accent and a sarcastic edge, made her stiffen. She blinked back the tears. “Don’t call me that.”
A swift grin turned his grim mouth into a glorious piece of male appeal. His lips were lush, both the upper and the lower, and a ripe rose in color. If it hadn’t been for the thick, black eyebrows, and the five o’clock shadow on his jaw, that mouth of his could be called feminine.
But it wasn’t. Not at all.
“Why are you crying?” he said, the roll of a slight Hispanic accent in the question.
The memory of what just happened, stormed back. Confiding in strangers wasn’t something she normally did, except right now, he was the only other human being around, and he appeared concerned. She sniffed. “My boyfriend, well, my ex-boyfriend…”
As her words trailed into tears, his expression softened. “He broke up with you? What’s his name?”
“He broke up with me awhile ago, but I just saw him again. And his new girlfriend.” With an ineffective wave, she gestured toward the foyer where her heart had been broken. “His name is Spencer Talbot Dodge.”
His hands tightened on her arms and his mouth quirked. “Say that one more time.”
“What? His name?” It felt good to stand in this stranger’s grasp. He held her close, and the warmth of his body and the clean scent of him filled her clogged nose, seeming to clear away a part of her pain.
“Yeah, his name.”
Brushing the trickle of tears off her cheeks, she eyed him. “Spencer Talbot Dodge. Do you know him?”
“No.” Hilarity sparked in the mist of those eyes and he grinned once more. “You have a boyfriend whose initials are STD?”
That was a college joke which had been immediately squashed by Spencer’s fraternity brothers and fellow football players. It wasn’t funny in the least. She scowled at this strange man who no longer looked like a potential friend or compassionate confidant. “Don’t laugh.”
He laughed. The sound was quintessentially male. Big and bold and loud. Combined with the merry expression on his face and the spicy scent swirling around them, she unwillingly felt the appeal of him. The heat of his hands caught her attention and added to the growing burn inside her. After being with Spencer, no man would ever cause her to burn, she’d known that with a deep, blissful awareness.
But she’d been wrong. And she didn’t like it.
She didn’t like this guy.
“What are you doing here?” Her accusation slung a hot missile of challenge between them.
His thick brows rose. “What’s it to you? Are you some sort of security guard?”
The swift rebuttal and his ironic gaze roaming over her spangly dress and super-high heels made her flush with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. She didn’t do blushing and the thought made her aggressive. “No, but you’re not dressed for the Beachers.”
“No?” He smirked.
The memory of another dismissive smirk she’d received mere minutes ago turned her irritation into anger. “Do you work here, too? As a janitor or something?”
Those misty eyes widened and then, he snickered. “Or something.”
“Hey, Riq.” A loud voice boomed down the surprisingly empty hall they were standing in. “Caught yourself one, you lucky dog?”
His hands dropped from her arms as he glanced over her shoulder. “Nah. Not worth the effort.”
Risa sucked in an offended breath. What the hell did he mean by that? She was way worth the effort. Yes, she might be a tad high maintenance, but what woman of any worth wasn’t?
Not that she was interested in him.
She glared her best glare, before swiveling to meet this man’s friend.
The blond man at the end of the hall was dressed like the jerk she just dismissed. T-shirt, shorts, flip-flops. However, the insignia on the shirt was the Beachers logo, and he held a gym bag with the logo as well. He was a member. Probably. So what did that make the man behind her?
The blond eyed her and grinned. “Hey, beautiful. If Riq doesn’t want you, I’ll have you.”
Bristling, she folded her arms. “I’m not a gift to be passed around.”
“Or a gift at all.” The slow drawl came from behind her.
For as long as she’d been alive, her parents had let her know—she was the center of their lives. Everything she did, from her first colored drawing to her graduation from college, had been met with applause and acclaim.
She was totally a gift.
No matter what Spencer or this guy thought.
A fierce rage burst inside. A feeling she’d never experienced, and one she would have said was impossible for her to feel. As Daddy told her time and time again—she was about lightness and happiness. A pretty butterfly come into their life to spread joy.
Except it was there. The fury. Deep inside, and roiling to the surface. Swinging around, she slapped the guy’s chest with her hand. “Get lost.”
Up until that moment, she would have said she wasn’t intimidated by him. He might be a foot taller than her at least, and an imposing male with his burly biceps and taut pectorals. But she didn’t think of herself as a puny woman.
She’d always thought of herself as worthy of taking on anyone.
He appeared to grow in front of her. His chest filled with a gust of air, his broad shoulders rolling back in clear affront, and those dewy eyes of his turned a bright, blazing blue. “You know what, Princesa? It’s time you lost.”
With those hard words, his hand landed on her elbow, and Risa found herself yanked into a new reality.
Chapter 3
What the hell was he doing?
Riq didn’t know, and right now, didn’t care. All he knew was his formidable temper, one he’d worked to control for the last twelve years, had escaped. This little spoiled girl with her pretty mouth spouting orders needed a lesson.
One he was determined to give her.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, as he pulled her into the convenient janitor’s closet and slammed the door behind them. “You’re a caveman.”
The old tapes began to play inside his head. The complaints from his parents. The slurs from his brothers. The jeers from the other students.
Why can’t you be like your brothers? His popi grumbled in his memory.
The complaints from his Marine superiors. The jabs of his fellow sailors. The endless lectures from Chief Galtero.
Boy, you gotta learn, Chief roared in his head. You can’t act like a crazed ape and make it in the SEALs.
He’d escaped. For years he’d escaped from those labels and his temper. Yet right now, he felt the roiling mess inside again. This girl had a lot to answer for. In such a short time, too. She had talent, this princesa. A talent for bringing back emotions he’d tried to forget and habits he’d tried to shed. A talent he didn’t appreci
ate.
He flipped on the light because…hell…she might be an annoying piece of work, but she was gorgeous, and he wanted another look.
A closer look.
Jerking herself out of his grasp, she folded her arms in front of her and huffed. The sound seemed to be something she did a lot. At least, around him. Kind of like his grandmother.
His temper bubbled when he saw the contempt in her eyes.
However, her folded arms only highlighted the plump, creamy tops of her breasts, distracting him. The dress she wore was made of some sort of shimmery fabric that made her every move one of sexual seduction. It cut off right at the top of her thighs in a swish of two waves coming together.
His gaze dropped to where the waves stopped. Right at the V between her legs.
“Step aside.” Her legs shifted, making the dress swing. “Neanderthal.”
The labels again.
His antagonism grew.
She really was hot stuff, though, beyond anything he’d had in a while. Since growing into his full height of six five, he hadn’t suffered from a lack of females. But he still remembered what it felt like to be a scrawny, short, eighteen-year-old who couldn’t catch a woman’s eye, much less her hand. This little princesa made him feel small again.
He hated feeling small.
Throwing on a sneer, he leaned against the door.
A sharp knock came from behind him. “Dude.”
Charlie’s voice was filled with amusement and Riq couldn’t fault him for that. He was acting out of character, acting the fool. Except he wasn’t letting this go. This girl go. Not until the lesson had been delivered.
“Yeah, I’ve got this.” He copied her by folding his arms, too. “I’ll talk to you later.”
A chuckle came from behind the door.
“I want out.” The princesa inspected him, as if she were about to charge, before issuing another one of her commands. “Whoever you are, tell this jerk standing before me to open the door.”
“Nope.” Charlie had his back even through the door, just as he’d had it in Iraq. “He’s cool. You don’t have to worry.”
“I’m not worried.” She shook her head in a tight rejection, sending wisps of blonde hair flying across her tan shoulders. “I’m irritated.”
Those heels of hers gave her height, but he knew if she stood on her bare feet, the top of her head would barely reach his collarbone. She was delicate, as well—her bone structure spoke of exquisite elegance. Still, the defiance in those eyes of hers and the tight line of her jaw told him she had fight in her.
A reluctant fascination twisted in his gut.
“Take your usual care with this one, Riq.” His friend’s voice grew muffled, as if he were taking off. “She’s a wild one.”
Her brows furrowed, and her lips tightened. “I’m not wild. I’m pissed off.”
“Now, now.” He kept his place because he didn’t know where he wanted to go quite yet. “Don’t pollute that pretty mouth with vulgar language.”
Her frown deepened. “Are you a janitor?”
“Why so confused?” He straightened, his temper surging once more. “Because I used big words like pollute and vulgar?”
She snorted. “Those aren’t big words.”
“Then why do you think I’m the janitor?”
“Because.” She waved an imperial hand at him. “Look what you’re wearing.”
Just like her benighted papa, she judged a person by their appearance. He’d purposely shown up at Migneault Perfumery dressed down, because he wanted to see the reaction. Along with the financials he’d looked over, Maurice Migneault’s startled inspection had been enough to seal the deal.
Or not seal the deal, as it were.
“A janitor wears gym shorts and sandals?” he jeered his disgust at her shallow judgment. “A construction worker does the same?”
A flicker of confusion whispered across her face. “So you’re not either?”
“Does it matter?”
The flicker turned to frosty condescension. “It always matters what a man does for a living.”
Since he’d made his first million, he’d encountered more than his share of this kind of woman. Not seeing anything else beyond his pocketbook. Not seeing behind his bad attitude and tattoos. Not seeing anything other than what he could do for them.
Her fierce gaze shifted, shooting to his arms.
His T-shirt covered most of his ink, but not all. Not that he cared. He’d gotten more than a few women in his bed because of the draw of his ink, and he’d also ferreted out more than a few snobby assholes before turning down their deals.
Her pretty pink lips curled in clear disgust at his tattoos, and judgment was written across her face. “Maybe you’re not working here. Maybe you’re here to steal something.”
Coño carajo!
Her fucking attitude needed a big fat kick in the ass.
With an instinct he’d learned in the seven years he’d served his country, he grabbed onto his roaring temper and choked it down.
His brain came back online.
Slouching on the door, he stared at the girl. Like father, like daughter. It was all about appearances and not about substance. He wasn’t surprised, though he was still intent on teaching this ethereal creature a hard reality.
But how?
She shifted on her heels making the shimmering dress swing across her thighs.
Speaking of hard…
The idea sparked inside him. It was stupid and juvenile, yet this girl made him feel stupid and juvenile.
He grunted.
Her pink mouth moued in disgust. “You’re such a—”
His hand shot out and grabbed her arm again. Before she could fight back, he had her secure in his arms. His hard arms.
His hard cock pressed into her soft belly.
To her credit, she didn’t turn into a weeping, wheedling woman. Her narrowed gaze met his, and those shiny, pretty lips twisted.
“So big and tough,” she scoffed. “Should I be afraid?”
“Up to you.” He dived right in, like the good SEAL he was and always would be.
The princesa tasted of spicy sugar. Of a zest of sweet feminine allure. Surprising him once more, she didn’t fight or faint. She stepped right to the plate of lust he offered and took her share.
Her tongue matched his. Her lips sucked on his.
Her hips bumped on his.
The effect was electric. A shot of pure dazzlement crisscrossed his body in a flash of fire. He groaned in a sudden fever of desire. The whole experience turned from teaching lessons to having a lesson taught to him.
“Mi Dios,” he moaned, sliding his mouth from her tantalizing lips to one shell-like ear. “Tienes swing.”
She did have flavor. A wild taste of wicked abandonment that was such a contrast to her perfect princess routine, it shocked him.
It also excited him past caring.
His hands slid under the hem of her dress and across her skin. Everything about her was exactly right. Her hips were exactly the right kind of round. Her breasts, poking on his sweating chest, were exactly the right weight. The softness of her skin, the taste of her breath, the way her hands tangled in his hair—all of her was exactly right.
The impact of her made him stumble against the door. Instead of pausing to give him time to recover, she followed, sliding her entire body against his aching one.
“Princesa,” he muttered, his mind turning to mush, his cock on fire.
With an abruptness that shocked him cold, she stiffened and yanked out of his embrace. “You’re despicable.”
Riq dropped his grasping hands, fisting his fingers into sweaty palms. He managed a sneer. “Am I?”
“Yes, you are.” She snapped her arms around her, one painted fingernail tapping on her tan arm. “Move aside, caveman.”
“You kissed me back,” he pointed out, glad his voice was the mellow one he’d worked on for years. “You liked it.”
“Move.”
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He wasn’t going to be the one left behind. Not again. Not ever again. Figuring he’d taught her something and ignoring the fact he’d learned something too, Riq twisted around, opened the door, and strode out of the princesa’s orbit once and for all.
Risa shivered as she stroked her hands down her arms, trying to calm herself.
What had just happened?
The bald lightbulb swung above her, casting shadowed light on the bins of towels and stacks of cleaning supplies. That guy had slammed the door behind him, leaving the thundering echo of his presence vibrating in the room.
She shivered again. With lust, not fear.
What had she just done?
Letting a jerk pull her this way and that wasn’t anything she’d ever let happen before. Allowing said jerk to poke her into a temper and press her into saying nasty things wasn’t her habit. And kissing a guy other than her beloved Spencer wasn’t something she’d do.
Never, ever.
What was wrong with her?
It was meeting Spencer. And Missy the bitch. That must be why she found herself in a broom closet with a caveman. It was the only explanation for losing her mind as soon as his lush lips closed on hers.
She’d let him suck on her tongue. She’d let his big hands feel her up.
And worse, she’d enjoyed every single second.
What had she been thinking?
Clearly…nothing.
His vital presence continued to swirl around her. Bringing back the memory of the heat of his body, the sizzle of his kiss. The way his callused hands had brushed across her skin, making goose bumps rise everywhere. Something had changed inside her when he’d touched her.
Something important, her intuition whispered.
Brushing away another shiver, she launched herself at the door. She needed to forget this ever happened. Finding her parents and leaving for home is what she had to concentrate on.
The door wouldn’t open.
“Shit.” She looked down.
A flip-flop, black with a gold crest, was stuck right in the crack between the door and the carpet. Kneeling down, she tugged it into her hand. Shock ran through her. This must be the caveman’s.