How he says them, rolling the r’s, makes me feel even dirtier . . . and aroused. “How about I let you choose where, and how hard and how fast? But first, take off your pants, Diego.”
He grins, dimples flashing, and does as I ask.
I reach beneath my skirt and slip out of my underwear, which I toss over my shoulder.
“Miss me?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Diego’s eyes shimmer with lust . . . and something else. He abruptly springs forward and hoists me into the air.
“Wrap your arms around my shoulders and press your thighs tight against my hips,” he orders. I’m barely in position before he arches his hips and slams up inside of me.
He hisses.
I moan like I’ve never felt anything so good.
For an instant, I forget everything except for him.
Hot. So damn hot.
Big, in a deliciously pleasurable way.
Strong, easily holding my weight and bouncing me in rhythm with his trusts.
“Fuck. You drive me loco,” he tells me softly, tenderly.
“And you make me forget there’s such a thing as common sense.”
“It’s just you. Only you.” He bends his head and our lips touch in a whisper of a kiss. Lightly, like we’re sealing an agreement. Like we’ve arrived at the bare bones of everything.
Only me.
I’m speechless. Beyond happy. And incredibly, I’ve fallen for him. Not just a little bit. Hard. Illogically, irrationally, without a shadow of a doubt, hard.
His lips claim mine. He kisses me so completely, fucking me with his cock as he fucks me with that golden tongue of his.
He cups my bottom and bounces me. Penetrating me deeply, like I’m about to split into two.
Our kiss heats up. Frantic.
Our bodies wild.
He tears an orgasm straight from deep inside me, causing me to scream out my release.
Only you.
Only.
You.
Nothing can compare. Nothing has ever felt this good.
I’m moaning into his mouth as I arch back. Waves of pleasure washing over me. When I’m finally able to gather myself, I curl into him so I can run my tongue along the thick cord of his neck. Needing a taste of him. Needing a different kind of contact.
“God. You’re beautiful, querida,” he murmurs. “I never want to let you go.”
“Don’t you dare let go,” I playfully say, nipping his neck to remind him how much.
“Trouble. Temptation. You’re too good for the likes of me,” he says, rolling his hips.
Naughty, naughty man.
“Oh,” I cry out with surprise. Seriously. Can he steal another orgasm from me this quickly . . . a few more rolls of his hips? “Please,” I hear myself beg.
“Hang on,” he warns, and begins to walk. With every step, his cock shifts inside me, small gyrations that leave me panting for more.
He squats and slowly rolls me back onto the coffee table. When my back is perfectly flat, he drives into me. Relentlessly. Wildly. Using his weight to bear down on me. I moan, and moan, somehow managing to lift my legs and anchor my calves around his lower back.
He’s a beast, Diego.
A bull.
And I’m coming and coming and coming.
“Aubrey,” I hear him gasp my name. When has my name ever sounded so sexy? He slows, and I feel his warmth spread inside of me.
“Dios mío. I could fuck you all day and all night.” He flashes me his dimples.
My God is right.
We lie there for what seems like eternity. Our connection strong, our bodies weak with pleasure. Cuddling, out here in the alley . . . on a coffee table . . . in public . . .
A loud creak fills the air. The only warning before the legs of the coffee table give out from our weight.
Reflexes fast, Diego turns and bears the brunt of our fall.
I’m too stunned for words. By the table . . . by everything.
“Chavita,” he says with a chuckle, “you certainly know how to get a man on his back.” He kisses me sweetly on the cheek, an intimate, loving gesture. Especially coming from such a badass.
It’s moments like this that feel like a dream. What every girl can hope for in a lover . . . in a man she loves. If you asked me a day ago, an hour even, about the most earth-shattering moment of my life, I’d have said the night he fucked me six ways to Sunday and afterward, fed me steak.
Until now.
Who would have thought I’d open my heart to a wild card like him? A life with a man like Diego wouldn’t be quiet, let alone predictable.
Opposites attract, he’d said. I suppose I’ll have to be the levelheaded person in this relationship.
I draw up the courage to tell him so but am interrupted by a loud, banging noise.
Diego tenses, and I feel his hand slide across my ass as he hastily secures my skirt in place and hoists me up onto my feet. “Run.”
“What’s going—” I begin.
A man’s high-pitched bellow has me moving, racing down the alleyway in the direction we’d come. I glance over my shoulder and see Diego gaining ground on me, his black leather pants in one hand, his boots in another, and a huge smile spread across his face. Somehow he manages to toss money into the air, a trail of it floating like feathers to the earthen alleyway. Payment for the damage we caused.
A small white-haired man is hurrying after us, waving a large broom in his hand.
“My table. Look what you sex fiends have done!” he screeches. Yeah, sex fiend is one of many naughty Spanish words I’ve learned.
Diego catches up to me and, ignoring the stares of two men walking by, wraps his pants around his waist and mounts his bike in his underwear.
“My hotel room is downtown,” I offer.
“Come on. Get on.”
I slide onto his motorcycle and wrap my arms around his waist.
“Diego?”
“Yeah.” He peers over his shoulder at me.
“You certainly have a sixth sense for trouble.” I grin at him.
“Aubrey.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Diego
Aubrey sips her tea, an air of contentment surrounding her. I’ve taken her to A Cup of Happiness, a teahouse and a place I thought she might enjoy while I figure out my next steps.
I peer into my coffee as if the answers might be found within its dark depths.
She’s not fighting me anymore. And this milder, gentler version of her, of us, has my stomach in knots.
“Everything okay?” Aubrey asks.
My eyes meet hers and hold. “Just thinking.”
Her eyes widen.
“My mother was a do-gooder like you. I told you she was dead. But what I didn’t share was what happened to her, along with my father.”
I watch her swallow hard. Yet there’s no mercy, no pulling back and softening the blows. Whether or not it hurts like a bitch, what needs to be said needs to be said. For her sake. For my future peace of mind.
“They were shot down by a Mexicali gang while spending what little money we had on groceries for the poor. My father was helping her carry the bags. Murdered by the same people she was trying to help.”
Aubrey gasps.
“Her being a do-gooder did us no good at all.”
“Oh, Diego . . .”
It’s my turn to swallow hard. “If anything happened to you . . .” I softly repeat, glancing down at my half-full cup of coffee. Black, so black and bitter.
“Diego?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”
I nod, then abruptly stand. Time to make a few phone calls. “Be right back.”
“Where are you going?” I hear her ask, her tone full of worry. I feel raw. Open. Needing to get away from her and the pity party she’s about to cast my way. Like she somehow understan
ds how deeply their deaths have affected me. How I think about my mother and father every damn day. Despite having taken my revenge and the time I’ve had to deal with the aftermath of my actions.
And now I’m sharing the deepest, darkest parts of me . . . with her.
“Love,” Hayden’s fond of saying, “is for fools, the old, and men with a death wish.” I’ve only ever loved three people. My parents and my sister, Luciana. I don’t allow myself the luxury of expanding on that emotion. I loved many women’s bodies. Taking pleasure where pleasure’s offered. Cautious. Careful. Never lingering too long. My wife, my soul mate, my love . . . TORC. I’m married to my job.
Or so I’ve always thought.
Yet just when I begin believing my life as a self-proclaimed bachelor is exactly what I need, the motherfucker of all explosions happens. And when the smoke clears, who do I see.
A thorn in my side from day one.
A pain in the ass.
A woman who makes me lose my mind. Who causes me to want what I shouldn’t want. Tear a piece off of what I don’t deserve. Steal a moment for myself. Make me rethink the direction my life is headed in.
I shouldn’t have touched her in that alleyway. Gone wild for her. Wanted her as desperately as I did. Said the things I’ve said.
I keep moving forward. No looking back. No regrets. Time’s ticking away. Moving forward is the way life goes. How do we say it in English? That’s the way the motherfucking cookie crumbles?
I have phone calls to make.
I head to the men’s room in the back of the teahouse. Locking the door behind me, I take out the paper El Chulo gave me along with my burner phone and ring Señorita del Misterio.
The phone rings seven times before a hushed voice answers. “Who’s calling?” she asks.
So much for holas.
“Someone in need of information.”
“Just a second.” There’s a long pause on the other end. I think I hear a door closing, before she comes back on the line. “El Chulo charge you through the nose for my number?”
I grin. “A small fortune. Is it worth it?”
“Depends on the question,” she smoothly replies. Quick. Smart. I like this woman.
“Two questions.”
I raise my eyebrow at the sound of her sigh. “Two questions answered if I can ask two myself.”
“Deal. Does Fahder know about the uranium shipment?”
“No.”
I frown. “So Mendoza is running this operation?”
“Wrong.”
“Dios mío. Then who is?”
“That’s three questions.”
“Mierda.”
“Are you CIA?” she asks, as curious about me as I am about her.
“I’m no one,” I reply, repeating one of TORC’s mantras.
“And I’m Kate Middleton. Never mind. I was simply wondering if you worked with that fine piece of beef.”
I release a long mental sigh. McDuff is up to his old tricks again, I see. “Piece of beef?” I ask, playing dumb. Clearly, he told her he works for the CIA.
“Yeah. Corned beef. Hate the stuff.”
She is talking about McDuff. When did they meet? I wonder. “Can’t really say. Sounds nasty, though,” I smoothly reply. As much as I hate a pint of stale Guinness, no way would I sell him out.
“Tell him when you see him that he’s an asshole.”
I snort. With pleasure. She’s definitely has had an up-close and personal encounter with my colleague. Interesting . . .
“The uranium is shipping out of Acapulco on Saturday. Did you find out where it’s headed?” I ask.
“Still three questions.”
“Fine. I hate corned beef. Can’t stand the stuff. Now a fine steak . . .”
“Cork.”
“Cork?” I repeat. “Ireland.”
“I know. Ironic. Is there any other?”
“Fucking Irish.”
“Goddamn Irishmen,” she adds, clearly exasperated by McDuff. Good, a little good-cop bad-cop in play.
“Did Mendoza organize the shipment?”
I hear her snort on the other end, before responding, “He’s just a lackey.”
My fingers tighten around my cell phone. “Who, then?”
“I can’t share that information right now without it compromising my assignment,” she informs me.
“Mierda. I’ll pay you double. Triple. Name your price.”
“It’s not about the money . . . sorry. However, if you work for the CIA, you’re an intelligent man. You’ll figure it out.”
I grit my teeth.
“I’ll leave you with this, something your friend told me. We might be working for the same side but it’s each man for himself. Or . . . each woman . . . I should say. Tell Antonio, or whatever the hell his name is, this: Never underestimate the power of a woman.”
The phone goes dead and I simply stare at it. I’m positive that if I were to call the number back, it’d be disconnected. An intelligent woman like her would only be using a burner phone.
Fahder is a middleman.
Mendoza is a middleman.
And a woman, someone totally off our radar, is calling the shots.
Our enemy, our target, is female.
As far as I know, there’s only one woman with strong connections to both men. Fahder’s ex-mistress. The mother of his bastard son.
Mendoza’s mommy.
It’s worth investigation. All I need is an address.
I could call Hayden. But I’m not scheduled to report in yet and I’ve another woman to contend with. A beautiful do-gooder who presently is tucked away inside a booth and sipping tea like it’s the best beverage in the goddamn universe.
I need a beer.
Or a bullet in the head.
Because, really, there’s one person I can turn to. Someone, thanks to this phone call, I have a bit of leverage over. Someone who owes me a favor for not cluing Hayden in on his cover being blown by a woman who clearly hates his guts. Not that it is blown, but he won’t know that. I’m not above bribery or little white lies, especially because I’m desperate.
Someone who can make the necessary arrangement to ensure Aubrey is on tomorrow’s flight while I call Hayden with an update.
Shamrock.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Diego
As I carefully make my way closer to Hacienda Santo Miguel, I consider last night, and my conversation with McDuff. One that both began and ended with a “What the fuck?”
“What the fuck?” he’d demanded, as I bowled over him, forcing him to step aside and allow Aubrey and me entry inside his safe-house apartment.
“Like what you’ve done with the place,” I said, shaking my head at the bohemian native-Mexican vibe of his place. Shamrock is a big guy, yet everything inside was low to the floor. The huge colorful pillows of his Middle Eastern–style sofa. The low coffee table that was more like a breakfast tray. An assortment of candles in varying lengths and sizes scattered across the wood surface. “If he offers you Turkish delight, better pass,” I told a quiet Aubrey. Nervous, probably. Or worse, sensing my next move before I even made it.
“Jesus Christ. Is she a civilian?” McDuff muttered.
“Yes.”
“And you brought her here?”
“Appears that way.”
He stalked over to the refrigerator, retrieved two beers, and returned. Offering one to Aubrey, and, snapping the cap off the second, chugging the other one.
Aubrey seemed alarmed. I told her a good friend of mine would look after her while I attended to business. What I didn’t tell her was that my version of “looking out” for her meant a trip home on tomorrow’s flight. But first, I needed to convince my friend to drive her to the airport. I felt Aubrey’s concerned stare. Smart woman. Not buying into this friendship, are you?
Instead, I reassured her. “I was just joking about the candy. He’s harmless. Drink up.”
She arched an eyebrow at McDuff. “We’ll share a
beer.”
McDuff snorted. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. You brought your girl here. Why me? Of all the dumb fucks running amok in Mexico City, why honor me with this introduction? I might not have been home, for Christ’s sake.”
“I had a feeling you’d be in Mexico City.”
“So you heard the bad news about my assignment disappearing.”
Dios, Fahder slipped by us again?
“He went inside the warehouse but never came out.” He glanced at Aubrey, who was looking around the place and pretending not to listen. He raised an eyebrow at me in warning.
“You in Mexico City and waiting for him to show up?”
“You got it.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, hating to ask him for this favor almost as much as hating to do this to Aubrey. “She needs somewhere safe to spend the night.”
McDuff coughed, choking on his beer. “Does our boss know about this?”
“What do you think? But before you say no, you’re not risking that long, milk-bottle neck of yours for me, know this. I had a little chat with a friend of yours. Why did you tell her we work for the CIA, Antonio?”
I felt Aubrey’s attention swing onto me. A small lie. For a lot that’s at stake.
He waved his beer at Aubrey, playing along with me. “Loose Lips here has got it bad for you, sweetheart. Know what? This is a cause for celebration. Would you get us another round of drinks?”
Aubrey frowned at the half-full beer in her hand.
“We want to talk shop. Would you mind, querida?” I asked.
“I don’t.” She rolled her eyes. “But is it necessary to lay it on so thick, mi querido?”
McDuff burst into laughter.
I grinned like a madman as she moved into the kitchen and busied herself. Giving McDuff and me a chance to talk privately.
“I like her,” he informed me.
I nodded, unwilling to share my feelings with him considering how my actions in bringing her here spoke loud enough.
“Any messages for me?”
“Yes.” I grinned. “You’re an asshole.” And to never underestimate a woman . . . which I refrained from sharing.
“How did you meet?”
He was curious. If I’d had time I would have fucked with him a bit and created some wild, sexually themed story. But I didn’t. “She gave El Chulo her phone number.”
“Sweet Jesus. Her ambition is going to get her killed.”
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