He swung his focus to Sydney, in his mind a much more beautiful sight than the tropical flowers surrounding the courtyard and pool.
Standing at the head of a long, rectangular table, she shook the hand of a woman Beckett assumed was Martín’s wife, Valentina. He slowly crossed the paver stones to greet their hosts. “Hola,” he said as he reached to take Valentina’s offered hand.
“Nice to meet you,” she responded. “Not under these circumstances, of course.” After firmly shaking Beckett’s hand, she motioned toward Sydney, who now stood at Beckett’s side. “Your wife here was just telling us that—”
“We’re not married,” Beckett and Sydney replied simultaneously, and he peered at her, finding a touch of red inching up the column of her throat. A nervous smile played across her lips before she refocused on their hosts.
Shy? Really? Hmm.
“Ah, that’s right.” Valentina clapped her hands together in front of her face. “How could I forget? My husband already told me that.” She reminded Beckett of a younger version of his mother. Already playing matchmaker two seconds into the conversation.
And that reminded him . . .
His mom had flown to LA the day McKenna was born and had disliked Cora from the moment she met her. Honestly, if his mom hadn’t been by his side when Cora took off, he probably wouldn’t have survived it. He’d been young then, young for a detective at least.
And I’ll be forty-two in June. Damn.
“You two would make beautiful babies, though, if you don’t mind me saying,” Valentina added when neither Sydney nor Beckett had spoken.
“Forgive my wife. She watches too many bachelor reality shows.” Martín came up behind Valentina, wrapped his palms over her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “I think she secretly wants to leave me for a younger man, and all the men in those shows are in their twenties.” He laughed, obviously trying to cut through any awkwardness his wife’s comment had created.
“I would never leave him, and he knows that.” Valentina looked over her shoulder at Martín and patted his hand. “But he’s always busy saving the world.” She opened her palms to the sky now and shrugged. “I get bored, what can I say? I have to occupy my time somehow.”
“Mmhmm. With young bachelors, eh?” Martín teased while motioning toward the long table, waving over to Oliver and Mya.
Beckett pulled out a chair for Sydney, which seemed to give her pause. She tossed an unsure look his way, squinting her eyes a little as she studied him.
“This isn’t chivalry,” he said, pitching his voice low enough for her ears only. “Just manners.”
“Thank you,” she said, allowing him to scoot her chair in farther.
He cleared his throat while rounding the table to sit opposite Sydney, still feeling a bit rattled by Gray’s proposal to her years ago.
“Sorry for the circumstances once again, but we’re so happy to have guests wearing nice clothes to dinner instead of holstered weapons.” Valentina was blunt, and yup, she’d fit in just fine back home at his family’s ranch. “Well, I assume you’re not carrying a weapon beneath your clothes tonight, are you?” Her gaze met Beckett’s from where she sat two seats away from Sydney.
“No, ma’am.” He graciously smiled, and they all took turns thanking them again for their hospitality.
“Ah, here’s the food,” Martín beamed as several members of his staff approached carrying large trays.
Beckett’s stomach growled in appreciation at the sight of the dishes placed down the center of the table. Fruit and cheese platters. Beef and pork dishes. Small tapas. A beautiful array of local cuisine. “Thank you for all of this.”
Martín gestured to the food. “Buen provecho. Dig in.”
Oliver didn’t hesitate and eagerly began piling up his plate.
“You can always get seconds. You know that, right?” Mya jabbed, but Beckett was too preoccupied with Sydney to inspect Oliver’s leaning tower of tapas.
Her plate was empty, eyes zeroed in on the cherries her hand hovered over.
Cherries? He thought back to the hotel when she’d told him she’d swapped her cherry-scented perfume for a different one. What was the story there?
She blinked as if emerging from a daze, snatched some grapes and cheese, then busied herself with adding a little of everything to her plate. A woman with an appetite was his kind of girl.
“Not hungry?” she asked, licking her lips as she peered at Beckett’s empty plate and picked up her fork. Oh, he was hungry alright, but not for food.
“Starving,” he promised, hoping the desire that’d reared up again wasn’t too obvious as she popped a grape into her mouth.
Yeah, he wanted to kiss those perfect lips.
No, he needed to kiss her.
Every part of her.
He wanted to lay her out on the table and fucking devour her. Feast on every inch of that perfectly silky skin before sliding between her legs and—
“You may not be married, but you two are lovers, no?”
And just like that, Valentina’s question shocked him back to the fact he and Sydney weren’t alone. And he’d been living in an If things were different alternate reality in his head.
But things weren’t different. He was still a small-town sheriff living in Alabama, a single dad raising his daughter while managing a cargo hold’s worth of baggage. And he was in Mexico because of said baggage.
“I’m sorry, what?” He set the black linen napkin on his lap and placed his hand on top of it, trying to will his dick down, then focused on Valentina.
Valentina lifted a brow. “If you don’t mind me speaking so candidly?”
“She will anyway.” Martín smiled and reached for a bottle of wine. “Apologies in advance.”
“Well,” Valentina began despite the fact neither he nor Sydney had acquiesced. She accepted a glass of wine from her husband before continuing, “I know passion when I see it. You look at that woman the way my husband looks at me. Like you want to . . . well, you know.”
“Like I said, apologies.” Martín chuckled as Beckett chanced a look at Sydney.
He had no clue what to say, and Sydney’s silence suggested she was in the same boat, so he reached for his bottled water and gulped a few heavy swallows.
“How about we eat, mi amor? And leave them alone about their personal lives,” Martín suggested.
“What? Talk about the cartel instead?” Valentina sighed. “He is obsessed with them. In taking them down, I should say. He’s also not allowed to work on Sundays—God’s day of rest. But I allowed him to make an exception when we learned of the situation. Plus, Carter Dominick called, and when that man calls . . .”
“You’ve met Carter?” Oliver asked before taking a bite of food, and Beckett finally worked his heart rate down to normal levels to get some food on his plate as well.
“Claro que sí. Carter is a unique man. He reminds me a bit of my husband. A wild card and not much of a rule follower.” Valentina smiled before taking a sip of her wine.
“Carter is that,” Oliver remarked.
The bottle of red made its way down the table, and Beckett decided he’d have a small pour. Maybe it’d help ease his nerves. Jesse and Ivy were safe for now, so he felt a little less guilty about enjoying a nice meal. Plus, Martín saved their asses earlier, and he told himself it’d be disrespectful to decline their generosity.