“Your purse?” He rubs a hand over his face. “Hopefully, it’s in your car, mami.”
Dominic pulls the keys from the inside of his suit, cocking his head to the parking lot. “The intern parked it while I called the authorities . . . who should arrive by dinner. Speaking of which, lemme take you to dinner.”
I strut off with his burning gaze glued to my ass. He keeps a stride at a pace behind. I move along the side of the building where his firm and a karate dojo share the same lot. At the sight of my car, I almost breathe easy. Over my shoulder, I shoot, “We’re a bad combination, Mr. Alvarez.”
“How so?” Dominic feigns innocent as I stop to fold my arms and glare at him.
“I should be checking my car for my purse. But since you’re so insistent. Every time we cross paths, either I’m judging you.” The apology lingers between us. “Or, you push me against the wall.”
“I didn’t push you against the wall the first time.”
I hate how readily I smile. The other night he scared me so good it hurt. “Oh, I stumbled.”
“Stumbled on what?”
“Air!” I roll my eyes.
Dominic’s smile sends a flood through my sex. “How about this? Next time I have you against the wall . . .”
The bad man saunters over to me. I find myself backing away. Dominic stops me, his hands resting at the small of my waist as if he has the right to. His thumbs caress and burn through the material of my clothes. How did I peg him so wrong? His touch is all comfort, safety. My whole body lights up with warmth, then smolders over as he speaks.
“You will climb that wall, chula. I’ll chase you all the way up. Maybe never let you come down.”
“O-oh, never come down?” My trembling voice stitches back together as I tease him. “What makes you think—”
My voice dies as he levels me with a look. My pupils dilate in shock. A rainstorm drenches my panties. Dominic’s abdominals trill between us as he quietly laughs.
I shudder out a sigh and dislodge myself from him. Roslyn exaggerates about everything. One thing she said is blaring true.
Cuban men. They think they’re perfect. You’ll live and breathe them, enraptured. When you realize the sweetness has become a cavity that has to be extracted—
Damn, I almost double sigh. There’s no hope for us. I have shit to do. Like, fulfill dangerous promises to women I’ve never set eyes on.
“Mr. Alvarez, you still think I’m crazy.” I rather that than the pity.
“Sí, loca, out of your mind.” His fingers tangle around mine as if he’s not letting me go anytime soon.
I let him have this small bit of control. “Yes, muy loca. Go back to your life.” I think the rest, saving people and screwing women for sport. “Ahem, I’ll go back to mine.”
I untangle myself again. This time, Dominic’s magic hands don’t stop me from using a learned defense mechanism. Ever since I failed ReAnna, all I do is run away from living.
Chapter Fifteen
El Santo
The other night, I’d waited for Aria to exit the shower. Half of me was torn by the thought of murder. The beautiful creature had no light behind her eyes. Though, darkness didn’t reside there either. She’d sat in the shower crying. Curious, I respected her by not completing the unthinkable while she was in a heap on the floor.
I’m not that fucking cabrón from the movie who went knife-loco on a woman in the shower.
While restlessly waiting to delight in her blood, I’d found the photograph of the mariposa. The transparent-winged insects were the singular reason I spared Ms. Jones’ life. I considered keeping it as a small token at the time. But the picture bound us forever. Still enthralled by the photo, a vivid image of it passes before my eyes as I settle onto one of the sofas at the foot of her bed.
I silently place my boots onto the coffee table. Darkness surrounds us as I drop my head and glance over at her sleeping frame. The image is embedded in my memory—as is her body.
Streams of water clung to her pretty brown skin the night she cried.
For me.
Not Dominic.
LeAnna made the mistake of placing him parallel to me. I’ve pardoned her and decided no more ángeles until this all-consuming craving for LeAnna passes. Our lives are tethered, emotions parallel. She’d descended to the floor of the shower to cry.
“If you only knew,” I mumble. Through the thick of night, my eyes adjust to the soft rise and fall of her breast. A thin cotton shirt lays smooth against her. My leather-clad hands curl into fists at the thought of touching her, telling her how she found me. How her connection to butterflies is mine too.
Standing up, I reach behind me, fist my knife. Sí, it’s a paranoia of mine as if the blade will miraculously get up and walk away one day. My boots move soundlessly over the limestone floor. I round the bed, perk my ears.
“Tell me your secrets, LeAnna.” I frame her face with my hand, my palms a second away from touching her. Between us, the warmth is new.
With my ángeles, heat is always fleeting. They grow cold too soon. Once saved, it’s impossible to heat them back up.
I continue to frame her face. I want to taste her, hold her in my arms, while she says my name.
Not El Santo—
Because with LeAnna, I will bring her back to life, anchor her here, and never let her go. She has to know me for me.
“I need you to stop searching for the man they call a killer. I’m not him. Not with regard to you, LeAnna.” I pause. The hunger to stare at her for hours almost seizes me.
If I let the craving rule, I will have to take her from here. I sigh. We’re not quite yet at the point where removing LeAnna from her surroundings is plausible. Seeking patience, I listen to the faint sound of her breathing.
I smile down at her, whispering, “For you, I’m capable of so much more than El Santo. Por favor, my LeAnna, do not continue to seek out the killer they have made me out to be. Find me—for me. Not El Santo. Because if you do, I will snatch your pretty little heart out.”
My mouth hovers over her forehead. I can’t kiss her yet. My impatience would be her downfall were I to claim her now. So, I’ll be patient. Soon, my gutsy LeAnna Jones will resist Dominic and know me.
Chapter Sixteen
Dominic
“Aria’s controlling my every waking moment—that’s her name.” I heave a sigh, running a hand over the back of my neck. “Can you believe that I mentioned Mami to her? It was nothing profound. Just how Mami always reprimanded us when saying goodbye.”
I pause, offering Dario a chance to slide into the conversation. His olive-green eyes hardly blink.
Since being in a wheelchair, days will pass without Dario uttering a single word. His legs lay awkwardly in the leather chair. We’re in the barber’s room of my home. He’s in the same damn windbreaker he wore yesterday.
With a stainless-steel bowl in my hands, I mop shaving cream on his face. I start to unzip his windbreaker, and he swats a hand at me.
“Dario,” I grit. “The only words you said to me today were to ask for a shave. Take off the jacket. It’s a muy caliente October, hermano. This is ridiculous.”