He finishes his wine and places the glass on the table before turning to me. “Chavita, I was born into this world as fearless as can be.”
“Bullshit,” I tell him, rising to my feet.
He blinks.
“I hate to say this but I’m going to anyway.”
“Dios mío,” I hear him mutter.
“For such a passionate man, you’re an emotional coward.”
I stiffen, prepared for him to jump to his feet and haul me into his arms. Which is what usually happens after I poke this puma. Instead, he places his wineglass on the table and reaches down and underneath the sofa. Our eyes connect and hold, as he places something on his thigh. I refuse to look. He needs to understand I mean business.
A few uncomfortable minutes pass.
“You going to do it?” he murmurs. His tone deep and full of purpose.
“Do what?”
“Look down at the surprise I have for you?”
Seriously, the way he rolls those r’s in the word surprise makes me remember every naughty thing I’ve done with this handsome, stubborn man. Is that what this is? Is he distracting me by making me think filthy, wildly tempting thoughts?
Recasting our conversation into something he excels at. Sex.
And manipulation.
Not so fast.
“No,” he tells me.
My eyebrows lift. “No,” I repeat rather breathlessly.
“I don’t avoid relationships with women because of what happened to my family.”
I feel like stomping my foot with disappointment.
“I do avoid relationships with women because of my job.”
Wine. I’ll grab the bottle and celebrate my failure as soon as he finishes proving to me that with a man like himself, in a chess game such as this, I’ll never, ever win.
“But,” he adds softly, his gaze steady, his eyes suddenly clear like cinnamon-tinted ice, “with you, I’m fighting like the devil to avoid a relationship for that exact reason. Because if anything ever happened to you, I think I’d lose my mind. I’m struggling to do the right thing. . . .”
“So teach me a few tricks. Help me learn how to defend myself. Not everything has to be a battle. We can do this together. We’ll take things slowly. Let things evolve naturally. We’ll take baby steps. Okay?”
I still. Hanging on by a thread as I wait for his response. I watch, fascinated, as his jaw relaxes and the invisible wall he’s so adept at throwing up comes crashing down. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat, giddy with excitement.
“Let’s let things settle down in Mexico City. You’ll return home. I’ll call my boss and confirm my assignment’s at its end. I’m due for a break, even more so a holiday break. I’ll meet you stateside. You’ll move into my cabin in Sedona.”
“Whoa. I was considering San Francisco but . . .” But I can still reconnect with my professors at Stanford and follow thorough on my plans . . . from Sedona.
He grins at me and I roll my eyes.
“You want us to live together?”
“Live together. Sleep together. Take hikes up into the mountains together and watch the sunrises.”
“What happened to my suggestion about taking baby steps?” I demand with a smile.
“I’ve got big feet, chavita. Impossible for me to take baby steps with. You want me. I fucking want you so bad it’s impossible to think straight. So let’s do this. But understand, you want me so you’re going to get all of me. Hard. Fast. Intense.”
I gasp.
“You ready for that?”
I squeeze my eyelids closed. No. I’ll never be ready for this sexy beast. I count to five before opening them and giving him my most wicked look. “Bring it on, amigo.”
His grin is wide, his dimples causing my heart to thunder in my chest. Yet he’s got this mischievous twinkle in his eyes. . . .
I glance down at his lap.
Oh no. I’m in such trouble, because there, perched on his thigh, is a book. My book. My book of Filthy, Dirty Street Spanish. He must have found it when he packed my belongings.
“You blushed so prettily that night we broke your bed, when I whispered all the kinky things I wanted to do to you. You understood everything, didn’t you? Naughty, filthy woman.”
I blush, and just like that, I’m breathless with anticipation.
He rolls to his feet, placing the book on the armrest, then tears off his shirt. His thumbs hook into his waistline.
“Strip, querida.”
Without waiting for me to act, he begins to do so.
I grin and wiggle out of his oversize sweatpants. Thinking how many times I’ve watched this devil strip. I’ll never grow tired of the sight of him taking his clothes off. My own private Magic Mike show. But better. And . . . mine alone.
Impatient as ever, Diego helps me out of his T-shirt.
He cups my breasts, fondling them, teasing my nipples between his fingers. “I never wanted a woman the way I want you,” he murmurs. “Always. Forever.”
I feel like crying. Laughing. Encouraging him to recite a few lines from that book. Loving him deeply, yet aroused by the anticipation of our lovemaking. “Always and forever,” I repeat.
His hand slides down my belly to rest between my thighs. “You’re wet for me,” he states the obvious, working a finger inside my slick channel.
I rise up onto my toes and lift my hips toward him.
“That’s it. Ride my finger.”
His thumb brushes my tight bundle of nerves, sending tiny, delicious shocks through my body. He runs circles over my clit until I’m dizzy with pleasure.
“Dios mío. You wet for me, querida? You want me to fuck you?” he murmurs. “I’ll give you two choices. Vanilla. Or with a whole lot of spice.”
He withdraws his finger and, bringing it to his lips, sucks my juices off of it.
My knees feel weak. My equilibrium unsettled. God, how I want to kiss his beautiful lips and tell him my deepest, darkest desires.
“I think we’re way past vanilla,” I whisper.
Like lighting, he’s on me, spinning me around and bending me over the arm of the sofa. Spreading me open with his thigh.
He places my book in my hands. “Read.”
A blush creeps into my cheeks.
“Come on, Aubrey. Let me hear those dirty, filthy words roll off your sweet lips.”
“Una buena cogida,” I mumble.
“A good lay? Coming right up.” His hands move to my hips, the bulbous head of his cock nudging at my entrance.
“Besos Franceses,” I read. French Kisses.
He inches his way inside me before rolling his big body over my back. I turn my head in time to catch his lips crushing over mine. His French kiss causes my toes to curl.
“Dirtier,” he murmurs in my ear, coming up into a standing position behind me. His thick cock slips and slides inside me as he moves. I feel myself grow wetter, my desire building.
“Chocha.” I grin.
“Keep going.” He spreads my legs, opening me up. “Next time, I’ll take you on top of a mirror so you can watch how fucking amazing your pussy looks around my cock.”
I press my forehead into the book. Feeling myself begin to shake and pushing back in time for his next forward thrust.
He falls silent as he picks up the pace, driving into me. My belly pushed flat onto the sofa arm, I hold on to the side of the sofa with one hand and the top of the sofa back with the other.
I moan. It’s the kind of moan that comes from deep within. Like a volcano that takes its time to build before its molten lava bursts into the sky in a long, spectacular, earth-shattering way.
I lift my head as I feel the rush of my orgasm begin.
“Diego. Please.”
“Please what, querida? Use your words.”
I grit my teeth and search for a word dirty enough to end this straightaway.
I immediately find this: “Quiero romper la cama.”
His laugh begins as
a whisper and ends as a rumble. And I can’t help but join in.
That’s how we climax. The damn guide to Filthy, Dirty Street Spanish falling to the floor. Both of us moaning and laughing, laughing so hard we’re in tears.
I’ve never felt so close to another person than I do to Diego.
He scoops me up and settles down onto the sofa with me in his lap.
“Thank you, Aubrey.”
I grin at him. “For asking you to fuck me or as you say in Spanish, ‘to break the bed’?”
“That.” He kisses my forehead, my nose, my lips. “And for not giving up on me. Not letting me ruin what is the best thing to ever happen to me. For believing in us.”
Now I do cry, tears of joy.
“Because I have a feeling with you, no bed is safe.”
I wrap my arms around him and tug him in tight. Knowing that playing it safe with this sexy, passionate, complicated man isn’t part of my future. But I’ve known from the first night he snuck naked into my bed and I lost all reason and common sense. Life with Diego is going to be one wild surprise after another.
“How about we give this a try, mi vida?”
He stands, lifts me high, tosses me over his shoulder, and fireman-carries me into the bedroom.
“Dios mío,” I repeat his familiar words with a laugh. When I first met Diego, I believed he was about to become an architect in his own right—the architect of my destruction. And I was right, so, so right.
Little did I anticipate how much I needed to be destroyed. By him. By the wildest, naughtiest, most clever man I’ve ever met.
He tosses me onto the bed. And with a wickedly beautiful smile, he fucks me six ways to Sunday and back and destroys me once again.
EPILOGUE
Aubrey
My pulse races as I plug in the multicolored Christmas lights I’ve carefully hung from the exterior beams of Diego’s enormous cabin.
My homecoming gift to him.
I’ve spent days decorating. Hauling an enormous Douglas fir into the living room and positioning it in the enormous arched front window. From far down the small roadway spiraling up toward our home, you can see the blinking lights I’ve decorated it with. And now the window is picture-perfect with additional exterior lights.
Except there’s a loose bulb. They won’t go on.
With a sigh, I head back outside and begin testing each individual one. All it takes is one loose piece to keep the rest from functioning.
Twenty minutes later and I finally find the culprit. Instead of being loose, though, it’s missing all together.
I return to the kitchen and to the packet I left on the long farmer’s table.
I stop and frown.
The pack has disappeared.
I inhale sharply, and my eyes grow wide as I breathe in his scent, orange blossoms with a hint of spice.
My heart skips a beat.
“Diego?” I rush into the bedroom yet it’s just as I left it. The custom-designed, custom-reinforced king bed is neatly made. And there’s no sign of his bags anywhere.
I check the den next to the kitchen. Not a pen or piece of paper out of place.
Biting my lip, I wonder if it’s me. That our three-long-month separation has me missing him so much I’m inventing things.
I move across the living room. And pause, as I hear the rumble of water. The hot tub is on. I race over to the French doors leading out onto the massive deck that overlooks the red rocks of Sedona.
Without hesitation, I step outside. And I’m immediately swung high off my feet and tugged into a tight embrace.
“It took you long enough.”
I hit him in the arm. “How long have you been home?”
“A half hour. I just needed time to unwind. Acclimate to being back. Clear my head. Give myself time for the normal to settle in, as it always does when I watch you. Dios mío, I missed you.”
He kisses me and any lingering frustration on my part disappears.
He’s home.
He’s here in time for Christmas.
Our kiss deepens. Chaste kisses are nice but when you haven’t seen your man in three months . . .
It’s Diego who breaks away.
“Let’s exchange gifts by the tree. Afterward, I’m going to spread you out on top of the used wrapping paper, run my lips along the reflection of colored lights on your skin, and fuck you so damn hard the tree ornaments are going to rattle and shake.”
I mean, what can I say to that?
I clasp hold of his hand and usher him to follow me inside.
“The hot tub?” I murmur.
“Later.”
I lead him over to the tree.
There is a large box beneath the tree that hadn’t been there before.
“You, first,” I say, hurrying into the bedroom. Like with the ornaments, I went a little crazy buying him presents. The Harley motorcycle store in downtown Sedona and I have become great friends.
We sit on the floor facing each other.
Diego opens his first gift. His eyes light up when he sees the fender. “I described your motorcycle to the salesman. If it is the wrong style, you can exchange it.” He crawls the short distance to me and kisses me hard.
As we break away, I murmur against his lips, “If we’re going to do this for every present, maybe I better sit on your lap.” Say yes. Please.
“First, open my gift. I want to watch your face as you do it.”
I grin. “That good, huh? You certainly aren’t lacking in confidence.”
“Just open it.” He places a big box on my lap. It’s bulky but light. And wrapped . . . atrociously.
“There’s more tape than wrapping paper.” I laugh. It takes a few minutes to pry the tape and wrapping paper off.
“Oh,” I whisper.
It’s full of underwear. Silks and lace and thongs the size of dental floss. Bras that feel soft in my fingers or that leave nothing to the imagination.
I feel naughty even looking at them.
I feel like doing naughty things while looking at them. “No wonder you were so excited.”
“I love how kinky you are when you’re wearing sexy underwear. But that’s not why I’m excited, mi amor. There’s another box inside. Open it.”
“What, did you buy me a vibrator?”
He shakes his head, growing more serious. “I’m the only thing getting inside you. Come on. Open it.” He takes my naughty thong box away so I can focus on the second large box, also wrapped up with more tape than wrapping paper.
As I work my way through the tape, I can’t help notice the change in Diego. So serious. Almost humble. Like whatever his gift to me is, it means something to him as well.
Finally, I’m able to tear open the lid.
Architect paper. Pens and erasers. A notebook.
“So you can expand on your initial plans.”
I blink. He knows me so well, how determined I am to get my project under way. The car washes and bake sales and my meetings with suitable, reliable investors. It’s a slow process when I’m desperate for things to move quicker. I’m learning to be patient, and persistent.
“Open the other box.”
I stare at him. “Another one?”
He nods.
I dig beneath the paper and find the third box. “How much tape did you go through?” I say as I dig into present number three. Seems we had the same thing in mind with multigifting.
Tearing off the top, I peer inside.
Only to spy . . . an envelope.
I retrieve it and carefully open it. There’s a piece of paper inside with my name at the top.
Aubrey June Hamilton
Organization: Hamilton Homes for the Disadvantaged
Wait a second. Is this a real organization? Did Diego . . . I glance down at the next line and completely lose my train of thought.
Dollar amount—what?
“Two million dollars?” I ask, my hands shaking. “What is this?”
“Exactly as it says
. I’ll be damned if you end up working for another crook. I want you to open up your own Architects Beyond Borders. Hire a team of like-minded do-gooders to work with you. You’re clear to work safely in Mexico City . . . you can stay at my apartment even when I’m off at work . . .”
Diego already approached Maxwell about returning my ten-thousand-dollar investment. It was wired into my bank account literally the same day they’d met.
“I needed time to bring my boss around to my way of thinking. Surprisingly, he liked the idea and has offered money and support. I suppose growing up in poverty has appealed to his desire to give back. If you can inspire that man’s do-good nature, you’ve already taken your first step toward success.”
Oh. My. God. Two million dollars.
“I can invest some of it and use the dividends to finance the initial construction. I’ll do what you suggest, create my own nonprofit organization, and sponsor other do-gooders in a pay-to-work program that is actually legitimate.”
And I know just the family who will benefit first. I’ve been sending letters and money to Margarita’s family. Now I can follow through on my promise and catch up on lost time.
My mind races with the possibilities. I’m so caught up in the wonderful present, one that genuinely will keep on giving, that I jump when Diego clears his throat.
My attention shifts to him.
He’s leaning back on his arms and smiling up at me. Happy he’s made me happy. I’ve never seen a more beautiful man. And I’ve never loved anyone so fiercely, so completely.
“Before you officially register your business, you might want to reconsider the name. How does Aubrey Hamilton-Romero sound?”
I blink. Seriously? Has he just asked me to marry him?
My life might never be peaceful. A life with him is guaranteed to be action-packed. Passionate. Explosive.
I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Acknowledgments
Hit Man was such a fun trip. Diego came alive in my thoughts, mostly at the most inopportune times, forcing me to pull my car off to the side of the road or scramble for a piece of paper during one of the best episodes of Game of Thrones. I hope you’ve enjoyed his naughty escapades. In this book, creating such a vibrant hero was a much easier task than getting onto paper an equally interesting heroine. She had to be smart, strong, and able to handle a sexpot like Diego. So, first and foremost, I’d like to thank my editor, Lizzie Poteet, for loving Diego as much as I do, for helping me flush Aubrey out, and for always knowing what to do with me! I’m so fortunate to be surrounded by talented people, and Lizzie is definitely that!
Hit Man: A Sexy Action-Packed Alpha Adventure Romance Page 27