My arms wrap around her, and I bring her body flush against mine. The rush of the Hummer is so close it sends her ponytail slapping the side of my face. I exhale, staring at her. Terror washes over her brown eyes.
She was somewhere else just now. Her breasts crush against my upper ribs, heartbeat slamming at me. It’s the only fight she has in her. When before, she’s been a jaguar.
“Por favor,” I whisper across her face. “Stay here.”
“Dominic,” she murmurs my name as if we hadn’t been arguing.
Standing between the two clunkers, I hold Aria between my arms, determined to shield her from harm. From herself. The crazy wheels in her brain cease to churn. Embarrassment pulls her facedown, nudging her softness into my neck.
She feels good, smells even better.
I declare, “I’m carrying you inside now.”
“Nnnn—”
“It was not a request,” I growl, scooping her up.
Back in the waiting area of my law firm, I kneel onto the floor, sliding her onto the couch. Jaguar returns. She fights to sit up straight. Her thick thighs part. I plant myself there. My eyes warn how she won’t get rid of me so easily.
My fingers find the ultra-soft curve of her cheek. How young is she? I’d place her at almost legal, but I know her date of birth and that she has a master’s degree in Art.
“Stop, please,” she murmurs.
I drop my hand. It lands on her lap, then I stand. This isn’t normal for Dominic Alvarez.
Out of all the lives I have, women fit into two boxes: either I’m saving them, not the good old-fashioned way, no damsel in distress for me, but my version, segueing America from dream to reality.
Or I’m fucking them.
Every fiber of my being agrees with sliding into her pussy, balls deep. But she needs help—lots of it.
“I saved you.” It’s not something I need to say as a confidence pick-me-up. Her grasp on reality seems marginal, which brings us back to square one. Her delusions of who I am. “I’m not . . .” Fuck, I am a bad man.
“You—”
“Don’t call me El Santo, por favor!” I slam the back of my hand into my palm. “I know the names of every woman the news has released. Some of them, I knew.”
“You saved me.” Smoldering brown eyes sparkle up at me, tears cluttering and collecting. However, not one falls down her delectable brown skin. I glance away, unimmune to her temptation.
Aria stays planted as I stalk around. Too many emotions cloud her face. Disbelief, confusion, fear, and something else. “You saved—”
“Why so astonished? You were stepping out into traffic. Don’t do it again.” Or I will take you over my knee and tear that beautiful ass up. I add, “I’m not him, chula.”
“You left the butterfly—”
I’m on my knees in seconds. My thick waist presses between her thighs. The warmth of her sex presses against my abdomen, but I grip her face, look her in the eye.
Big brown eyes widen in shock. “What the—”
“You’re confused! I don’t give a damn about butterflies.”
“You came back to my apartment, and then you left the photo on my nightstand. It’s in my car.”
“Dom,” my secretary calls.
I paw her face, commanding, “Stay.”
“I’m not—”
“I said, stay. You will stay. Besides, I have the keys to your car.” I head down the hall. In my secretary’s office, Yasiel is nursing a bloody nose while a paralegal fiddles with an ice pack.
I huff. “Yasiel, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No!”
“Just a little look over. You and the girl—”
“No.” A more feminine voice cuts in.
“See, even she doesn’t want to go.” Yasiel presses his face forward, then tosses his chin straight back. I snatch at the Kleenex as blood rushes down his face.
“Yasielito,” Aria speaks up. “I’m okay. You should get checked out.”
I level a glance at Aria, who favors the doorframe with a curvy hip, then back to Yasiel. “What’s with you two?”
The kid laughs then drops his head back again. His voice is nasally. “She and I connected over life and death experiences. Mami, what’s your name again?”
I reply, “It’s LeAnna—”
“Aria,” she snaps.
“Aria,” I correct myself. “Yasiel, I—” The kid stops grinning and jolts out of the chair. I clasp his arms. “You can’t come around for a while. I told you so two days ago!”
In fury, he squeaks, “Those Colombians—”
“Callate la boca, por favor!” I roar.
“What about them?” Aria speaks up, regarding Yasiel like a protective tía.
Something akin to disappointment clutches my jaw. If I’m not El Santo, in her eyes, I’m fraternizing with drug dealers.
“Those Colombians are looking for the wife of one of the top dogs. Wife? Ha! Those pendejos beat her like an animal!” Yasiel says.
“Oh,” she murmurs.
“Dom thinks I don’t have it in me to handle myself.” He stops pinching his nose. Blood flows like water. Then he sits back again, cutting his gaze at me. “Nice to know you don’t believe in me.”
Shock sparks across Aria’s face. She was dead wrong about me. I gesture toward the paralegal. “Tonya, take Yasiel home, por favor.”
“Sí,” she murmurs. Yasiel mentions he’s Cubano, chest rising as he starts for the door. He’s still muttering under his breath when he reaches the crazy woman.
“You were my hero, Yasielito.” Aria runs a hand over his forearm.
“See.” Yasiel rolls his eyes toward me. “You always said make a friend, make a reference. Aria is both. She can vouch how I fight for—”
“Miss Tonya,” I speak up, nodding for her to follow through. There’s no stopping Yasiel’s ranting. She guides him out of the room. The bell chimes at the entry.
Aria leans against the doorframe of the office, silent, observant. My mouth tenses as I await her apology.
“This has been a horrible day.” Aria shrugs. I want to tell her we know all about horrible days, but she’s staring at me intently. “I’m not good at apologizing. So, Mr. Alvarez, I’ll leave.”
“No. You’re not leaving.” I step toward her.
Aria stalks through the lobby. I loop an arm around her shoulder and plant her against the wall in the hallway. Good, she’s trembling. My fingers could drag across the surface of her quivering body and detect where to fuck her. The pace. The intensity.
I place my hands on either side of the wall, box her in. I don’t touch her, just let her melt in anticipation.
“You’re trouble, Ms. Jones.”
Her thick lashes flutter up. For a beat, she exhales deeply. “Not your concern anymore.”
“What’s this talk of butterflies?” I’m baffled by my question, though curious.
“Nothing.”
“You mentioned them, sí or no?”
“Doesn’t concern you.”
I laugh softly, changing my course of action as Aria settles into nonchalance. I go in for the kill. Shoulders rising a little, I say, “You’ve been through enough.”