“Pídele disculpas a la, señorita.”
My chin instinctively turned toward the coffee-liquer voice sending shivers down my spine in the otherwise sweltering cantina. Without the pressure of my jaw holding it in place, the phone tumbled from my shoulder and clattered against the counter.
My ears heard his foreign words, but my eyes commanded a stronghold over my common sense, gawking like I’d never seen a man before.
But I had. I’d seen him once at the bar and a few more times occupying one of the bar tables served eagerly by one of the revolving door of underage morons Emilio employed. He was impossible to forget and played a starring role in a few of my more descriptive fantasies. Of course, my creative mind replaced whoever I happened to be screwing with my Mr. Danger on more occasions than I cared to admit.
Now, as we came face-to-face again, he looked even more dangerous than I remembered. He stood confidently, wearing black suit pants that hugged him in all the right places and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I gawked shamelessly at him as if he’d walked in stark naked. I had a feeling he’d discarded his suit jacket and tie before entering the bar, and I couldn’t decide if I was appreciative or a little bummed. On one hand, the casual look displayed his muscular tattooed arms, but the idea of that man in a suit did things to me I wasn’t proud of.
I stared, fascinated at the intricate designs on his forearms, while inky, black hair tousled around his bronzed forehead as if worried hands had disrupted a carefully prearranged style. A beard, slightly heavier than a five ‘o clock shadow, stretched from temple to temple and filled in across defined cheeks, circling the fullest lips I’d ever seen.
He still looked like pure danger.
Tightened chocolate eyes lasered across the bar at Frankie and his friend, the golden flakes around his pupils speaking loudly in the silence.
“Excuse me, Pedro?” Frankie mocked, cupping one hand to his ear and hooking his other thumb between himself and his friend. “See, this is America. We don’t speak your dirty-ass language here.”
“Frankie!” I chastised, shocked at his blatant ignorance. However, Danger simply lifted a hand, effectively silencing me.
“Then let me say it in the language of the American asshole,” he said, his tone an even keel. “Apologize to the lady.”
Frankie snorted. “To Cherry? Are you shitting me?” He raised his finger as if he were about to make a point before swaying on the barstool. “I’m not apologizing for trying to get a piece of what everyone else in this town has tasted, Pedro.”
My face flamed. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Normally I didn’t give two shits what people said about me, for the simple fact that most of it was usually true. But for some reason, the idea that Danger thought I walked around fucking until my knees gave out bothered me.
He pursed his lips, softly offering a tsk of his tongue as he slipped out of his chair. My eyes tracked every move as he stalked with the cunning of a panther and the eye of a wolf. Danger placed both palms on the bar and leaned into Frankie, whispering so low, when I strained to eavesdrop, I couldn’t even catch a mumble.
As he spoke quietly in his ear, Frankie’s lips uncurled, his face paled, and beads of sweat broke out across his greasy forehead. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve sworn he’d pissed himself too.
Frankie mopped his brow, wiping the back of his hand on his shirt. “I’m…I’m sorry, Cherry. I meant no disrespect.”
I tapped my index finger against my lips to keep from laughing. “It’s okay, Frankie. The cab is outside. Just go home and don’t be a dick to your wife, all right?”
Nodding, he grabbed his friend’s arm. Together, they moved with speed I’d rarely seen out of those two fat fucks and slammed the door behind them. With the town drunks out of my hair, I turned to thank my dark knight, only to be met with a vast space of nothing.
Jesus, again? What the hell was with this guy?
Vowing to take the sting out of his rejection with a call to Brody after work, I concentrated on refilling drinks and restacking chip baskets. With only a few stragglers left in the cantina, my eyes roamed to the small flat-screen mounted in the corner. When rows of caution tape caught my eye, I grabbed the remote and turned up the sound as a pretty brunette anchor recounted the grisly details of what appeared to be the latest in a string of murder-suicides.
“The Houston PD say a woman who killed her boyfriend and then herself late last night also had plans to murder his wife, according to a note she left next to their bodies. Luckily, the wife of the slain man wasn't in their Robindell home when the killer showed up with a gun. The investigation into the fatal shootings is ongoing, but prosecutors say it appears to be a jealousy driven murder-suicide. Allegedly, the woman, Daniella Morales, started an argument at thirty-four-year old Nando Fuentes’s apartment around six o’clock pm yesterday evening, only to return around midnight, shooting Fuentes in the chest, and herself in the head.”
“Damn.” Lowering the volume, I shook my head along with a lady at the end of the bar with long dark hair sipping a highball of whiskey. I grabbed the rag and wiped down the bar again as I turned around. “That shit is happening too often, don’t you—Jesus Christ!” I jumped back, a scream lodged in my throat as chocolate eyes singed every piece of exposed skin, swooping down to devour what was left.
He folded his hands confidently onto the bar. “We meet again.”
“Do you always make a habit of sneaking up behind girls in bars?” I pressed my hand over my racing heart. “I thought you left.”
His lip quirked. “Your problem is taken care of. Those idiotas won’t be bothering you again.”
I placed a fresh napkin in front of him and snorted. “Those idiotas are harmless, especially Frankie. He’s all talk, and I could probably kick his ass blindfolded.” I noticed him still staring, and I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being tested. “But thanks,” I added quickly. “You saved me a chipped nail.”
We stared at each other in silence, his hypnotic eyes seeming to bend me to his will. I hadn’t been rendered speechless in four years, much less dazed by the mere presence of a man. It unsettled me in a way that made me edgy.
Forcing a break in the intensity, I concentrated on restocking the freshly-washed margarita glasses from the bin to the overhead slider. “So, what’ll it be?”
The same smile that played on his lips earlier curled into a devilish grin. “Añejo tequila. Straight shot, in a stem—”
My head snapped up. “Stem glass, not a highball, room temp, and if it hasn’t aged at least three years, shove it up the owner’s ass, right?”
“Precisamente,” he laughed, throwing his head back, baring his perfectly straight teeth. “A man should watch out for a woman who forgets nothing.”
I poured his drink and set it in front of him. “A man should watch out for me, period.” I watched him swirl the liquid, then take a sip, as if it would be disrespectful to the drink to shoot it. “I remember you,” I confessed, tilting my head to the side. “You’re very specific about your hooch.”
He took another sip, licking an escaped drop of tequila from his plump lip. “A man in my position needs to be very selective about many things, señorita.”