Shanice walked across the bamboo floors, past the dining room and into the living room where a large window looked out at the back yard and the Gulf beyond. Cruz’s three-bedroom house was an open floorplan that sat on a lot he’d purchased years ago in a small exclusive neighborhood. Working with a builder, he’d designed the mostly white interior and the exterior, which included a swimming pool and hot tub that could be accessed by walking down the stairs from the covered deck into the back yard. The boat slip allowed them to jump in his small boat and island-hop at their convenience.
She’d spoken to Beatrice a couple of times in the past two weeks. The older woman assured her that she didn’t blame her for what happened and was glad that she was finally safe. She spoke to Ava once, giving her limited information about her pursuit of justice for her dead friend, and her run from killers. She did let Ava know she’d met someone but didn’t tell her it was their favorite customer. She wanted to keep that to herself a little bit longer.
She talked to her mother almost every day, including this morning. She’d flown to Arizona to spend time with her but returned after a few days because she missed the love bubble she and Cruz were enclosed in.
Shanice put away the groceries and then prepared two glasses of iced lemonade before padding to the back deck that overlooked the pool and hot tub. She took a seat in one of the chairs and waited for Cruz to notice she was back.
He was swimming laps, and when he saw her, he pulled himself out of the pool, wearing only a navy-blue Speedo, water dripping down his muscular body.
“Brought you something,” Shanice said, holding up one of the glasses.
He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss. His firm, moist lips never failed to make her tingle.
“I think you’re enjoying your time off,” she said.
“I am. Because I have good company.” He took the glass and sat down across from her.
Shanice picked up the book he had been reading earlier—The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History.
“How is this?” she asked, flipping to the bookmarked page where he’d stopped.
“Fascinating. I can barely put it down. I think you’ll want to read it when I’m done.”
Shanice flipped to the first page. “If you like it that much, I’ll definitely have to check it out.”
The phone on the table beside her rang.
“It’s a video call, from Raheem,” she said, handing it to him.
Cruz answered the call. “¿Que bola, acere? Is that a beach I see? Don’t tell me you’re back in Rio.”
His friend laughed. “Of course. I might move here permanently and make this my base.”
“You have a woman down there, don’t you?”
“Women,” Raheem corrected with a laugh.
Shanice smiled and shook her head.
“As much time as you spend there, shouldn’t you be fluent in Portuguese now?”
“You know I’m no good at languages—except the language of love.”
Shanice couldn’t see the wolfish grin spread across his face, but she heard it.
Cruz groaned. “Dios, that was really bad, acere.”
Raheem laughed. “Enough about me. How’s life in the slow lane?”
“So far so good.”
Shanice went to stand over Cruz’s shoulder. “Hi.” She waved at Raheem.
“You both look happy, so I guess everything is going well. I was just checking on you.”
“We’re doing fine.” Shanice rested a hand on Cruz’s wet shoulder.
“I’ve been keeping up with the news and saw what happened to Logan. Couldn’t have happened to a better guy.”
The FBI seized his records and forensic accountants were in the process of digging into his financials, where they expected to find tax avoidance and other illegal activities. He’d already been charged with six counts of murder in the case of the dead police officers. The others, after learning that he was killing them off to tie up loose ends, agreed to testify against him regarding his scheme to force tenants out of their homes.
“And Dennis’s name has been cleared,” Shanice said.
The Houston Times did an entire series of articles about Dennis and his investigative work and had interviewed her for the series. From what she understood, they’d tried to interview his wife, too, but Karen had declined the invitation. Instead, she sent a heartfelt letter of gratitude to Cruz and Shanice through Miles, thanking them for clearing her husband’s name. Their last contact with her was when she paid the balance of Cruz’s fee.
“No word on the senator’s involvement?” Raheem asked, a frown of concern marring his forehead.
“Nothing’s going to come of it. Miles refuses to touch it,” Cruz said, sounding irritated.
“I don’t blame him. Ruffle the wrong feathers, and the next thing you know, they’ll shut down the agency.”
Cruz nodded, oddly reticent in his response.
“Shanice, make sure he continues to take care of himself. He works too hard.”
“I will,” she said with a grin. “You take care of yourself, too.”
“I will.” Raheem threw up the peace sign and hung up.
Cruz pulled her down onto his lap, and she draped her arms around his shoulders. “I had a great idea today.”
“What?”
“No cooking for you tonight. I’m taking you to Key West for dinner, dancing, and we can spend the night at a local hotel and come back in the morning. How does that sound?”
“Sounds ah-mazing,” Shanice replied. “I can’t wait.”
Sunlight streamed in through the windows of the house and shone a spotlight on their lovemaking. The sound of rain hitting the roof made their lazy morning tryst that much more intimate.
Cruz dragged Shanice to the edge of the bed and set her ankles on his shoulders. His downstroke was powerful and hit deep. He made her take all of him, filling her core with such pleasure her entire being trembled with each dominant stroke. He forced the pleasure on her and tore the air from her lungs as his body constantly sliced into hers.
The heat from the early morning sex act made Shanice’s skin damp as she reveled in every thrust of his hips between her thighs. Gripping his muscular arms, she arched higher to take more of him.
She moaned, begged, pleaded, and looped one arm around his neck so that she could drag him closer and sink her teeth into his strong throat. Sex was always like this with him. Rough, even when it was tender. Strong, intense, from the very first moment they made love. The night she locked eyes with this virile, sexy man in The Bookish Attic, she’d been thrown for a loop. Her unsteadiness only increased in the three weeks since she moved into his house in the Keys.
He groaned, forging his body deeper into hers. She met each thrust by gripping his deltoids, tightening around his erection until she came undone. An orgasm rippled through her loins up into her belly, and she cried out, tightening her legs around his neck. Seconds later, he let out a low groan and collapsed on top of her. He was certainly not light, but the weight of him was comforting and reassuring.
Rolling onto his back, Cruz let out a heavy breath and stared up at the ceiling.
“Good morning,” he said.