Knight in Tattooed Armor: International Billionaires XII: The Latinos

by Caro LaFever

  “Damn,” the princesa said from behind him, her hand landing on his back. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  The howl of the wind took her words and squashed them so he could barely hear what she said. But he didn’t notice that as much as the heat of her hand.

  He tensed from her touch. “We need to move fast toward the shelter.”

  His wave encompassed the gravel path and the gaping entry to the bunker dug into the side of the mountain.

  “Now we’re going out?” Her voice escalated to a shout, a mix of tease and taunt in it. “My hair will get wet.”

  He ignored her, scooping up a shivering dog. “Close the door behind you.”

  Taking off at a brisk pace, he bent into the wind, letting the rain beat on his head and shoulders without interference. This was why he’d come here. This fierce fury, this pitting himself against Mother Nature and winning. For a moment, he let himself forget about the woman, let himself sink into the primitive struggle of man against the elements.

  Jiggs whined in his arms.

  Riq didn’t bother to soothe, because he’d made it within two strides of the shelter’s door. He stumbled down the steps leading into a small entryway and yanked the thick, metal door open, pushing his dog into the dark warmth.

  Turning with his flashlight, he swore.

  She stood in the center of the graveled path, her face lifted to the downpour, her clothes plastered to her body. The darkness of night and the ferocity of the hurricane couldn’t dim the flash of his light as it strummed along her.

  There was no fear in her expression nor her stance.

  Instead, she looked like she was communing with an ancient goddess of storms. Her eyes were closed, her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer. The wet cotton hid nothing from his reluctant and fascinated gaze. The plush weight of her breasts, the smooth glide of her waist, the swing of her hips running through to her sexy legs.

  The girl had legs.

  A crash of a palm tree limb thudded to the ground right next to her.

  She jumped and cried out.

  “Are you crazy?” he roared, taking off towards her with a speed he hadn’t used since his last SEAL mission. Sweeping her into his grasp, he cursed under his breath as his knee twinged. But it didn’t do any good to keep yelling at her out here. The winds whistled and howled around them, driving him toward safety.

  He’d yell at her when they got to the shelter.

  Wrapping her compliant arms around his neck, she snuggled into his grip. The ease with which she did it, made him grit his teeth.

  He didn’t want her comfortable.

  And he sure as hell didn’t want her to see him as a port in the storm.

  Jiggs woofed as he plowed into the shelter with his unwanted baggage. Riq plopped her on her feet with an unceremonious dump, and slammed the heavy door shut.

  The storm’s rage turned into a muffled dirge.

  “Are there lights in here?” she asked, her voice amazingly calm and serene.

  Sì, dammit. There were lights in here. The batteries would last all night if he wanted them to, and he couldn’t find any food for his dog and himself if he didn’t use them. What he’d like to do is stuff this woman into her own dark hole and leave her for the night. Just as he’d initially decided before going soft. But now she was here, and there wasn’t any use thinking about going backward in his decisions.

  He flicked on the light.

  The bare bulb burst to life, sprinkling a dull glow on the small room.

  “Light.” She clapped her hands like a little girl and her face, the face he couldn’t seem to stop looking at, turned joyful. “That’s wonderful.”

  Grumbling under his breath, he glared at the pestilent princesa.

  Her face fell at the look on his, and she wrapped her arms around her dripping, shivering body.

  A slither of guilt slid into his gut. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook, but he didn’t want her to catch her death. Hell, he wouldn’t be able to stick her on his boat tomorrow if she were sick. Pacing to the tiny closet, he yanked the steel door open and pulled out the towels he’d stored in it earlier today. Instead of two plush towels for himself, he’d have to share.

  The knowledge quenched his slight guilt. He threw one towel at her, and in typical female fashion, she wasn’t quick enough, and it fell to the floor. “Pick it up and get dry.”

  “Orders and more orders.” With a grace that irritated him even more, she scooped up the grudging offer and patted her face.

  With a belligerent glower, he watched her as she rubbed the towel in her hair, turning the strands into a blond cloud of fluff, still a bit stiff with soap. Again, his attention went to the way his wet T-shirt draped over the buds of her breasts, and highlighted the firmness of her stomach and arms.

  Not just her hair was stiff in this room.

  “Were you an officer?”

  “What?” Riq shook his head, trying to push her out of his mind. “What are you talking about?”

  The towel dropped, revealing her quizzical face. “Officers. Orders.”

  Her question finally clicked. To his relief, his lust was replaced with sardonic amusement. “Not a chance.”

  “Why not?”

  Because he hadn’t ever wanted to take the responsibility for another’s actions. His actions were enough to answer for. But she didn’t need to know that. “Not interested.”

  Her gaze flittered over him, taking in his wet clothes, his tattoos, his snarl. And then, her expression filled with compassion as if she pitied him. “They didn’t promote you?”

  A gruff laugh escaped him because it was quite the opposite. He’d been asked over and over again. Chief Galtero had nearly torn out his last hair trying to get Enrique de Molina to take charge. “No, I never wanted it.”

  Surprised bemusement rippled into those Marine-blue eyes. “Why not?”

  He wasn’t in the mood to discuss his past or even his present. Not with this woman. Before he could blast her with that news, she shivered again and clutched the towel tighter.

  A sense of disgusted responsibility swept through him. “You better take off your clothes.”

  He hadn’t meant it as a jibe, he’d meant it as reluctant concern.

  Except her blonde brows furrowed with irritation. “Dream on.”

  As if he would. About her.

  “Suit yourself.” Sauntering to the closet again, he pulled out some shorts and shirt. Not telling her he had a second set, he headed toward the compact bathroom.

  “Wait.” Her voice wavered with a mix of exasperation and longing.

  “Yeah?” Turning, he gave her a bland look.

  “Um.” She fidgeted with the towel, her forehead creasing. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions about what you meant about my clothes.”

  The princesa was capable of saying she was sorry. Color him completely surprised. It was probably because she wanted fresh clothes, but still. It was an apology. With a huff, he strode to the closet once more and pulled out the second set of clothes. “Here.”

  This time, she caught the throw. The crease disappeared, replaced by relief. “This is great.”

  “Don’t get too happy. You’re cooking dinner.”

  Jiggs knew the human words that were important. His stumpy tail thumped on the hard steel floor.

  “Not a problem.” She had the audacity to lean down and pat his dog, like she’d be able to satisfy his buddy’s finicky tastes. “Where’s the kitchen?”

  She glanced around the small, 8x12 room, as if she expected it to be the foyer into a grand hotel. The single bunk bed with its bare mattress in one corner, and the sink and shelves filled with a few plastic packages should have given her a clue.

  “This is it.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened in astonishment. “But…but…”

  “We’re eating MREs.” He paced over to the shelf and picked the first two packets off the small pile. He’d eaten every one of these more times t
han he could count, and he didn’t much care what filled his belly at a time like this.

  However, she would.

  “What are MREs?”

  Riq grinned at the innocent question. Oh, sì. She was going to freak.

  Chapter 14

  The caveman had an incredibly muscular body.

  Risa tried to drag her gaze away from his shoulders and back, but it was an impossible task. The wet, white T-shirt clung to every ripple when he moved, and through the veil of cotton, now that there was a clear light, she detected more swirls of tattoos. Apparently, his torso was covered in patterns, both sides.

  She really wanted to see those patterns again. Examine them. Identify them.

  Touch them. The realization stunned her.

  She wanted to see him naked.

  Turning, he threw her a grin. A wicked, taunting grin designed to irritate her. “MRE means meals ready to eat.”

  A mix of aggravation and lust twisted inside, making her grumpy. Then, she took a closer look at what was in his hands and shock swept everything else away. “We’re eating that?”

  The plastic bags appeared is if they might contain a bit of candy or some potato chips. Not a full meal.

  “Yeah.” His grin deepened, showing he was enjoying her confusion. “You’ve got your choice of spaghetti or beef brisket.”

  She knew he assumed she’d balk, that she’d complain and turn into a bitch. The expectation shone from his misty blue eyes. Her entire life was about meeting expectations, but in this case, she couldn’t do it.

  Because she was honestly intrigued by the idea of eating a MRE.

  “I’ll have the spaghetti.”

  Her words stunned him. It showed in the way the mist cleared from the blue and how his body tensed. “What?”

  Realizing she enjoyed shocking him just as much as he enjoyed shocking her, she grinned. “I said, the spaghetti is mine, caveman.”

  Jiggs woofed, his toenails clicking on the steel floor as he paced between them.

  His startled gaze fell away from her to the dog, and his mouth softened. “I know, buddy. Soon.”

  Something inside her heart swelled. His patent love for his pet shouldn’t make anything inside her swell, yet the tenderness on his face was such a contrast to his harsh attitude with her, she couldn’t help herself. There was more to this man than she’d realized at first. More to him than tattoos and jerky behavior and tough talk.

  Much to her dismay, a dreamy smile lifted her lips.

  He glanced back at her and his expression went sour.

  The swell in her heart deflated. The dreams of seeing him naked, and having him treat her with gentle affection, faded.

  Throwing the packets on the steel counter, he turned and headed toward the rear of the shelter. “I’m going to change. I’ll want my meal when I return.”

  Instant outrage spiked up her spine. “Now just one minute—”

  “Remember, Princesa.” He halted and swiveled around to pin her with a scowl. “If it weren’t for me and my kindness—”

  “Kindness.” She snorted.

  “You’d be sitting on the beach waiting for the hurricane surge.” He sneered, his bulging, tattooed arms swinging around to fold in front of him. “Waiting to die.”

  He had a point. Knowing this, she couldn’t summon a counterattack.

  His sneer grew, telling her he knew he’d won this round. “So be a good girl and make dinner while I get comfortable.”

  His dog woofed.

  “Come on, Jiggs. Follow me and I’ll towel you off, as well.”

  Risa stood in the middle of the dinky room, watching as the caveman and his faithful companion marched through a simple door into what she guessed was some sort of bathroom.

  The door slammed shut.

  For a moment, she let herself slump in despair. This was the worst situation she’d ever found herself in. Dripping wet, shivering, her hair a mess. No nice clothes or high heels, dressed in a borrowed T-shirt and shorts that didn’t fit. Stuck in a humid, hot room with only one bed…

  Only one bed?

  Her heart rate broke into a trot. Glancing around, she didn’t see anything other than the one pillow and one blanket tucked neatly at the bottom of the mattress.

  “Hey,” she cried out.

  “Better start dinner.” His gruff voice came through the steel with a snap at the end. “You don’t want to disappoint me.”

  Her hands fisted at her sides and another shiver ran through her body. Once they’d eaten, there wouldn’t be much to do other than go to sleep. And knowing the jerk, that meant he’d have the bed and she’d have the floor. He’d have the pillow and the blanket, and she’d have none of the above.

  For a second, she imagined climbing onto that single bed with him. Having his strong arms surround her, his spicy scent envelope her, his warmth comfort her.

  Risa huffed out a breath of disbelief.

  Because the guy might lust, but he didn’t like her. If there was an invitation from him, it was going to be given with a sarcastic, contemptuous attitude. Designed to make her feel awful about herself if she agreed. Since she didn’t sleep with men who didn’t appreciate her, she was destined to spend the night on the floor.

  Her despair deepened.

  “I’m not hearing running water,” he snarled from behind the closed door. “Read the directions. It’s not that hard.”

  With a resigned shrug, she dropped the borrowed clothes on the end of the counter and grabbed the first package. Ripping it open, she examined the contents and the list of instructions.

  “Hurry up. They take about ten minutes to cook.”

  Her pride finally rose above her despair. “Be quiet, jerk.”

  “The jerk who saved you. Don’t forget.”

  “How can I forget when you mention it every other minute?”

  A cough of rough, male laughter surprised her. She swung around to stare at the closed door in amazement. He had a sense of humor? Who knew?

  His dog woofed, a happy sound that settled inside her like a warm hug. So what if she had to spend the night on the floor? She’d have Jiggs to cuddle with, and she’d be safe from the hurricane outside. Plus, now that she thought about it, she’d have hours and hours with Mr. Not-an-angel to turn him into one. He couldn’t escape her and her plans.

  A flutter of a smile skipped across her lips.

  The door slammed open.

  He stood, dressed in his usual uniform of T-shirt and gym shorts. This time, the T-shirt was purple, with a green logo professing love for a local radio station. His bare feet twitched when her gaze dropped to them. No flip-flops, and she remembered he’d left them on the dock when he rescued Jiggs. Did the man just discard Versace sandals everywhere he went?

  She frowned. Versace should not be left in janitor closets or on hurricane-swept docks.

  “What the hell are you frowning about?” He marched to her side, another scowl on his face. “You haven’t even started. Which means I should be the one who frowns.”

  “Unlike you, I was never a big, bad Marine, so this is new to me.”

  “Move aside, civilian.” He used his bulk to nudge her away from the counter. “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Excellent.” Grabbing the dry clothes, she headed for the bathroom. “I’ll expect a warm meal when I return.”

  To her continued surprise, he laughed again. Jiggs met her at the doorway, the rolls of his jowls making him appear grumpy, yet his blue eyes shone with delight that she’d given his grouchy owner something to laugh about.

  Did he not laugh very often?

  With that intriguing thought, she pushed the dog out into the main room and shut the door. There was a toilet in one end of the dinky room, and a steel sink on the other. Over the sink was a small square of a mirror.

  She chanced a swift glance.

  Knowing it would be bad, she hadn’t realized how much. “Ugh.”

  It was amazing the jerk outside had looked at her with anythin
g other than astonished horror.

  Yanking off the damp clothes, including her panties and bra, she pulled on the soft cotton and sighed with relief. Never before had she understood how much dry clothing could be such a pleasure. The memory of her huge walk-in closet, stuffed with silks and satins, swept into her memory, but it seemed so far away—her life on Star Island as a pampered princess—she couldn’t keep it in focus. Right now, her life was with this bad-boy angel, stuck in a steel shelter, hunkered down until the storm blew by.

  Shock rippled through her.

  She didn’t mind being here. It was exciting.

  More exciting than her life had been since…since…

  Ever.

  “What are you doing in there?” His accented voice flipped the question at her, as if he expected her return volley. “Putting on some perfume and makeup?”

  A wry chuckle escaped her.

  “I heard that,” he said.

  Jiggs barked.

  The smell of barbecue sauce drifted under the door. Her stomach growled.

  “Believe it or not, I heard that, too.”

  Risa chuckled. In any other situation, she’d have been embarrassed. A lady’s tummy didn’t make noises in front of others. A lady always had herself put together.

  She stepped to the mirror again and peered at herself.

  A lady certainly didn’t have a head of hair that looked like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket. And a lady didn’t present herself without a spot of mascara or lipstick on.

  A waft of spaghetti sauce floated into the room.

  “I’m going to eat both MREs if you don’t get out here.”

  She made a face and brushed her fingers through her damp hair before heading for the door.

  To hell with being a lady.

  For now.

  She looked impossibly pretty to his eyes.

  His usually cynical eyes.

  Her fresh skin glowed in the overhead light, shiny and clean and clear of any of that gook. Her lips were a natural pink, a colorful contrast to the golden alabaster of her complexion. Those Marine-blue eyes fit into the female picture as if the hand of God had personally selected the last touch to make her prettier than every other woman on earth.