Knight in Tattooed Armor: International Billionaires XII: The Latinos

by Caro LaFever

  “Nope.”

  Before she did any more damage to his conscience, he swung the Jeep onto the gravel road leading down to the ocean. To his relief, she went silent, and the only sound in the car was Jiggs’ panting. The panorama of his island unfolded in front of them, as he drove over the ridge behind the tree house. From this high above, he saw the colors of the bay’s water turn from aqua to azure and then, to the blue of her eyes.

  “It’s gorgeous.” Her comment wasn’t gushing this time. The words were quiet, almost hushed as though she’d entered a church.

  Which was exactly the feeling he’d had when he first stood on the top of this mountain, staring first at the huge banyan tree he’d decided was going to be his home. And then at the lush, green jungle swirling around the white-sand beach and ocean.

  Pristine. Pure. Primal.

  A place he could put down roots. A place where he’d feel at peace. A place for his heart, as well as his body. But during this past year, after he’d finished building his home, he hadn’t reached that place.

  Not yet. He still couldn’t figure out why.

  “If I lived here, I’d never leave.”

  Her soft voice roiled him. Roiled the vague, restless realization that he might never reach his place. “There’s no malls here, Princesa. No fancy eateries or wild parties.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Why do you have to ruin this moment by being mean?”

  Because he didn’t want to like her. He didn’t want to think she might understand a part of him he didn’t even understand himself. He didn’t want her here.

  “Remember,” he growled. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

  “Except I am, and it’s silly to keep going on about it.” Her arm came around his buddy and from the corner of his eye, he saw another pout forming on her pretty mouth. “We could be having fun instead of sniping at each other.”

  Having fun.

  The suggestion slid into his cock. The hand he’d used to cover his erection tightened on his thigh.

  “This isn’t about having fun,” he jeered. “This is about paying me back.”

  A gentle sigh escaped her. “You’re such a jerk.”

  “Yeah, I am.” He yanked the gears, pushing the Jeep to go faster, as if he could escape her by hitting one hundred miles per hour. “Live with it.”

  Live with it.

  Risa tried to ignore the grumbles and grunts of the jerk as he pulled a part of the dock off the beach and into the water, but for some reason, the sounds reminded her of his essential maleness.

  Which was really weird.

  Shrugging off the thought, she focused on the job he’d assigned her. When they’d driven up to the village, there was surprisingly little damage. From his dire warnings predicting she would have been swept out to sea, she’d expected a disaster, with homes destroyed. Yet, other than a few missing roof tiles and a couple of flooded rooms, the village had survived virtually unscathed.

  “It’s the steep drop in the continental shelf,” he’d muttered, after she exclaimed in surprise. “I chose this side so there’d be less impact when storms did come in.”

  She’d stared at him, curiosity about him surging again. “You chose this location?”

  His thick brows furrowed. “Sure. This island was uninhabited before I bought it.”

  Risa glanced out at the pristine beach, the verdant, lush plants and trees, and the sparkle of the sea. “I can’t believe someone didn’t own it before.”

  “Someone did.” He pushed the Jeep’s door open. “They just didn’t build on it.”

  “Why not?” Scrambling out of her side of the car, she helped Jiggs get down before slamming the door. “Why would someone buy this island and not build? It’s beautiful.”

  He eyed her as she rounded the car, his gaze filled with amusement once more. “You’re a curious little thing, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not a little thing, but yes, I’m curious.”

  A snort was her answer, and he headed toward the first house on the street.

  “Tell me.”

  He threw a wry look over his shoulder. “Why should I? Because you demand it?”

  The slight dig didn’t faze her, because beneath the hit, she sensed his affection growing. It was in his eyes and the way his lips quirked. A lightness welled inside, filling her with an expected happiness. “Please.”

  “Ah.” The quirk on his lips turned into an outright grin. “The magic word.”

  “It’s always worked for me.”

  “I bet.” His tone went dry.

  “Come on.” Jogging to his side, she grabbed his arm. “Tell me.”

  He stilled at her touch and looked at her, his grin fading. The strong muscles under her palm tensed and the heat of him went through her—a torch of male virility. A flash of what looked like pain went through his eyes.

  Risa didn’t know what was wrong, but just in case, she dropped her hand.

  “There’s things called permits. Those cost a ton of money.”

  “Oh, yes. I see.” A thought popped into her head—if she wanted to convert the Migneault factory, there’d probably be permits, too. Another hurdle, though this man standing beside her obviously knew about permits. He could advise her.

  “Do you?” Humor coiled around his question. “Do you have any idea how much a permit to build on an island costs?”

  “No,” she admitted. “But I can learn.”

  “Here’s to you learning.” He paced off, heading for the dock where she’d landed not twenty-four hours ago. As they approached, she could see that one edge of it had broken away from the piling.

  “Coño.” He stopped, putting his hands on his hips. “This will have to be fixed before anyone can dock here.”

  “I’m sure you can do it.”

  Glancing her way, his grin reappeared. “Got a lot of confidence in a caveman, huh?”

  She played along by smiling back and giving him an exaggerated look-over. “Sure do.”

  A short bark of laughter was her reply. “Compliments. From you. To me.”

  “I’ve said please and given you a compliment, so now it’s time for you to answer my question.” Perhaps if she knew how much a permit to build cost, she’d have some idea of how much a permit to fix her factory would cost.

  Her factory.

  The claim ricocheted inside her, shocking her…and also scaring her.

  “What’s wrong?” He took a step toward her, worry filling the mist of his eyes. “You’ve gone white.”

  “How much was the permit?” she croaked, not willing to share her thought with him. He’d probably laugh at her.

  Stopping his approach, he frowned again. “Fifty thousand.”

  Her mind reeled. That much money?

  “Now will you answer my question?”

  In a daze, she stared at him. “Your question?”

  “What’s wrong?” He came close, and with a gentle touch, took her arm. “Are you sick?”

  “No.” She finally confessed a piece of her shock. “I just didn’t have any idea it would cost so much money.”

  “And that’s important to you? Why?”

  “My factory,” she whispered into the soft breeze. “I’m going to need to get permits to fix my factory, if my idea’s going to work.”

  At the mention of her factory and her piddly idea, his hand dropped and his mouth pinched. “Come on. We have work to do.”

  A desolate pain shot straight through her heart.

  He still wasn’t interested in helping her develop the idea. He still didn’t want to listen.

  He strode away from her, his spine stiff and rigid, the playful guy replaced by the well-known jerk. Risa batted her eyes, pretending to herself she was being a coquette instead of pushing back tears. By the time she’d recovered from the fast shift of mood, he was already digging in the trunk of his Jeep for tools.

  Their conversation, playful or not, hadn’t resumed for the last four hours.

  She’d been orde
red to clear the beach of driftwood and other clutter the hurricane had dredged up. After working straight through lunch and into the early afternoon, She felt like a wet rag. A sweaty, dirty, grumpy, hungry rag.

  Quitting wasn’t an option, however. Quitting meant the caveman would think she was spoiled. He’d sneer and snarl, and the chance of him ever listening to her new strategy for Migneault Perfumery would be nil. During these hours of work, her brain had tried to mull over his comments, her daddy’s, and even the Nose’s. She hadn’t come to any firm conclusions or even hit upon a definite new plan, perhaps because she continued to be distracted by his fine ass and gorgeous body. Yet, she knew in her gut—if this surly angel would give her only a bit of help, she could save her family’s company.

  So, that was her next step. Get him to respect her enough to listen and help.

  Grabbing another tree limb, she tugged it toward the edge of the jungle.

  The jerk grunted once more, catching her attention. As she watched, the dock slid into the ocean and bobbed into place.

  She paused, in awe.

  That was a huge dock. And he’d maneuvered it into place on his own. It hit again how powerful he was. He stood at the edge of the sea, his flip-flops getting soaked by the water. His chest heaved with exertion and his back muscles flexed, as if trying to shake off the strain of moving the wooden structure.

  In a quick move, he pulled his sweat-soaked T-shirt off, throwing it on the sand.

  Risa sucked in a deep breath.

  His back was a kaleidoscope of swirling black, red, and green mixed with the golden tan of his natural skin. The tattoos ran over his shoulders into the spikes of two swords on his biceps. She couldn’t make out what the swirls meant, if anything, but they highlighted the beauty of his masculine form with a breathtaking touch of whimsy.

  He turned away from her, giving her another eye-popping view of the entire breadth of his back. The ink design swirled over his lats, ending in the middle of his spine.

  “What does it mean?” she called.

  Halting, his shoulders twitched as though he felt her lingering look. “You’ve got a lot of questions.”

  She ignored the snap in his voice. “The tattoos. What do they mean?”

  Turning, he eyed her. From this far, she couldn’t detect the blue, though the keenness of his gaze was apparent. “Do they have to mean anything?”

  “They do.”

  She barely knew this man, but with a gut instinct, she understood what she’d just said was true. He might be mean and a jerk. Yet, he was also thoughtful, even cautious, in his approach to things. She couldn’t imagine this man getting drunk and going for a tattoo on a whim.

  Not him.

  He stood on the beach, his strong legs planted solidly on the land. Behind him, the palm trees waved, the white sand gleamed, the deep-blue waves of the ocean rippled on the shore. The beauty of him and his island struck her, the way he belonged on this particular coast, in this precise haven.

  “It’s a tattoo I designed myself.”

  His words pulled her away from the contemplation of his beauty to focus on another facet of this complex man. “That’s cool.”

  Pacing toward her, he turned when he got within a foot. “Guess what they are.”

  There was a strange mix of tease and wariness in his voice that confused her. She wasn’t used to being confused by any man. Not her daddy nor Spencer nor any of the other men she’d encountered. Mostly, she knew exactly how to approach a male to get what she wanted.

  “No guesses?” He breathed in, expanding the breadth of his back.

  When she’d touched him before, he’d frozen, so she didn’t attempt it this time. But her fingers twitched to touch the blaze of ink on skin. Feel the hard muscles below. Sense the heat of him in the sun. It was impossible to concentrate with him standing in front of her in all his glory. “Um.”

  “That’s all you have to say?” That was definitely a tease in his voice. “No questions as usual?”

  She took a chance and poked him in the middle of one tattoo.

  A muffled chuckle was his response.

  Staring at the ink, she still couldn’t see any defined patterns. “I give up. Tell me what they are.”

  There was a pause, as if he weighed whether to say more. Then, those big shoulders shrugged. “They’re nothing special. Nothing worth talking about really.”

  Her eyes narrowed, because she knew him. Again. This time she knew he was lying. This wasn’t a man who’d spend hours making a design, hours in a tattoo chair, only on a freak impulse.

  She glanced at the ink once more. “I might be a spoiled princess in your book.”

  “Yeah, you are,” he drawled.

  Taking another chance, she slapped a hand on the broad back in front of her.

  He flinched.

  The skin was damp with sweat and hot. As hot as the sunlight streaming down on both of them. His breath surged, filling his torso and strumming through her hand, like a wild call of nature.

  With a quick yank, she cut the connection.

  Her hand fell to her side, fingers curling into the palm. Lust mixed with a growing rage at his stubborn refusal to give her any respect or any chances. “But at least—”

  “At least what?” Whirling around to face her, he gave her a blank stare.

  “At least, I’m not a liar.”

  Chapter 19

  Liar.

  The princesa had the gall to call him—a US Marine SEAL, a man who’d put his honor and body on the line for their country—a liar. His hand shot out before he could even process the outrage building inside. She squeaked when he wrapped it around her arm and tugged her right into his body.

  “A liar?” He kept his voice low and soft, because he’d learned it was often more effective than yelling when faced with arrogant questions or stupid comments. “Is that what you called me?”

  Her head popped up, and those Marine-blue eyes glittered with answering outrage. “Yes, I did. That’s what you are.”

  A shock ran through him at her courage. He was a large, muscled man, and he’d learned to use that, too. Used it to quell any dissent from the other soldiers, if one of Chief Galtero’s orders didn’t suit. Used it to intimidate an enemy, or silence a critical investment partner. After leaving the SEALs, never once had he actually used his body in a physical way to coerce, but mentally? Sure. He’d cop to that.

  She came right at him, not caring in the slightest about the bulk or height of him. Rising on her toes, she glared into his face. “These tattoos mean something to you.”

  “It’s none of your damn busin—”

  “Then say so,” she snapped. “Tell me to back off, instead of lying.”

  Her words sliced into him because they were true. Both his popi and yaya were sticklers for truth, and even though he’d fallen into trouble during his teenage years, he’d still stuck to the truth in every encounter with his family.

  Except for not telling them the truth about your wealth.

  The thought shuddered through him, making him scowl.

  “Go ahead and look scary,” the princesa snarled right at him. “Look all tough and rough. I don’t care. Because I know that’s also a lie.”

  His hand tightened on her arm. “You should be scared.”

  “Should I?” An excellent sneer, one he’d eagerly claim as his own, crossed her face. “Why? Are you going to hit me, caveman?”

  Dropping his hand, he staggered back at the charge. He might have been part of a hood in his youth, he might have been a killer in the SEALs, but he’d never hit a woman and never been accused of such a thing.

  His honor screamed a loud—NO.

  NEVER.

  Her arms folded in front of her, though not as a buffer or a gesture of fear. Her attitude trumpeted confidence, and the tap of her fingers on her skin told him she was irritated, not afraid. “Thought so. You’re a big old pussycat at heart.”

  “Pussycat?” Outrage filled him again. No man, e
specially not a Marine, wanted that term anywhere near him. “I’m no pussycat. Not in the slightest.”

  A glint of a tease lit in her eyes, filtering through the annoyance. “You can’t fool me.”

  “I don’t need to fool you. I don’t care what you think of me.”

  But he did.

  When the fuck had that happened?

  Riq felt naked all of a sudden, although he still had on his gym shorts and flip-flops. The feeling enraged him once more, and because he couldn’t touch this woman standing before him, not in rage or in passion…

  Wait a minute.

  His hand reached out again, and again, she squeaked when she thumped into his chest. A smug satisfaction swept through him as he easily pressed her into him, wrapping one arm around her, bringing the other up to cup her chin in his hand. “What were you saying about pussies?”

  Her eyes widened as he’d assumed they would, when she caught the vulgarity in his tone. Yet before he could relish the feeling of having her off-kilter, instead of him, she changed the playing field.

  Reaching up, her fingers wove into his hair and she yanked him to her mouth.

  The previous two times they’d kissed, he’d dived in, he’d initiated.

  This time, he fell.

  It didn’t matter that she smelled of seaweed and salty sweat. It didn’t matter that her hair was matted with shampoo and dirt when his fingers slid into the strands to make sure she didn’t leave the kiss. It also didn’t matter that she tasted of grit and sand rather than sultry sex.

  None of it mattered because of the way she took him in.

  No longer was she a princesa, or a woman who irritated him. Instead, she took him in and encircled him with her heat and acceptance.

  Him. Enrique de Molina.

  The juvie. The hard Marine. The tough-as-nails investor who didn’t resemble an angel in any way.

  She took him.

  Her mouth sucked on his with infinite passion, as if she appreciated every part of him beneath his armour. Her fingers twined through his sweaty hair, as though she couldn’t care less how he presented himself. And more than anything, her body told his—he was wanted.