Chapter Forty-Seven
Leighton
Mexico City, Mexico
Three Months Later
I lay curled on my side and watched him sleep. His long, dark hair drifted over one eye and across the bridge of his nose. It’d grown even longer since we’d been in Mexico and needed a trim. Or maybe not. I kind of liked the added reckless look it gave him.
My fingers itched to touch him, but I settled for gazing upon him with my eyes instead. It felt like I hadn’t see him in weeks, but in reality, it’d been only a little over twenty-four hours. Since Eden was due soon, Val had handed over all day-to-day business to Mateo. I didn’t ask any questions as to where he went or what he did. I didn’t want to know. All I cared about was that he returned in one piece.
My husband.
I’d loved Mateo Cortes from the first moment I saw him as a teenaged girl, and nothing had changed. Actually, that wasn’t true. Everything had changed. I still loved him, but I saw him with new eyes. Stronger eyes. Eyes that viewed the world for what it was. Eyes that now knew the evil that resided in the hearts of ones trusted to protect us.
Eyes that saw him faced with a choice, and eyes that watched him protect me over all others. Just like he promised from the first moment we met.
He shifted in his sleep, and a lock of hair caught in between his full lips. I moved my hand to brush it away then gasped as his hand snaked out from under his pillow and wrapped around my wrist. Midnight eyes met mine, and he pulled his arm back, sending me tumbling on top of his chest. It wasn’t an easy landing. The toned and hardened planes rose and fell with even breaths as he studied me.
“If you wanted my attention, aim a little lower, mi amor.” His voice sounded rough as he ran a palm over my cheek.
“I thought you were asleep.”
The darkness in his gaze made me shiver. Sliding his hand down my arm, he entwined our hands and placed them over the growing swell of his erection. “I haven’t touched my wife in over twenty-four hours. What do you think?”
The smile in his eyes held me prisoner. They weren’t hardened or shrouded in secrets. Quite the opposite. As they roamed over every inch of my face, I lost myself in their raw honesty. When I gazed into them, all I saw was the love I’d waited four years to reclaim.
Our lips met in a kiss both tender and combustible. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he pulled my legs until I straddled him, and I deepened the kiss. The sheet slipped down his thighs, his cock already hard against my ass. In just a few touches, slickness had built between my legs, but that wasn’t what this was about.
This was about a promise. This is my need to prove to him that he could walk beside me in his world as my husband—not in front of me as my shield.
“Leighton.” He groaned low and primitive as I raised my hips and slowly guided him inside me. It was instinctive for Mateo to take control—to grasp my hips and thrust upward until my body obeyed him. But this time, he held onto my hips, calling out my name through thinly held restraint as I slowly rode him. I gripped his chest as a spark lit in my stomach and ignited into an out of control flame.
Mateo’s face contorted, and I knew he felt it too. We were no longer Leighton and Mateo. We were a force in this world—one no one could ever break again.
“I love you, Matty,” I whispered as I lowered onto him one last time and splintered apart.
My release prompted his, and he gritted his teeth through a guttural groan. Neither of us moved. We stared at each other with silent words not needing to be vocalized.
Except for four.
“Te amo, Star,” he said, weaving his hands through my hair and bringing my lips to his. “Siempre.”
I love you, Star. Forever.
Epilogue Two
Leighton
Mexico City, Mexico
Four Months Later
“Don’t go too far,” Mateo called out as Stella followed a group of older children around the grounds of Val’s estate.
“Sí, papá,” she called over her shoulder.
“You know, English is her first language,” I said, sipping my fourth margarita.
Mateo laughed, not taking his eyes off her as she struggled to keep up with the herd of kids. “Not anymore.”
Sixteen weeks ago, Santiago Nash Carrera came into the world upside down and backward. Ironically, Eden found it hilarious while Val continuously threatened the entire hospital with slow and torturous deaths during her C-section.
Eight weeks ago, Eden argued like a seasoned litigator when Val postponed Santi’s baptismal celebration. He’d read an article online about C-section recovery and swore she needed more time to heal. I had to hand it to her; she put up a good fight, but logic didn’t stand a chance against the unshakable trifecta of a cartel boss, overprotective husband, and new father. Eventually, she gave in, and as Santi’s madrina, I helped her plan a new party from scratch.
Speaking of parties...
When Mateo told me that traditional Mexican baptisms were all-night parties, he wasn’t kidding. By midnight, my feet hurt, and I was half-drunk. Even though the crowd had thinned out a little, Val and Mateo’s trusted lieutenants and their families still roamed the grounds of the Carrera estate toasting to Santi, Val, Eden, the cartel, themselves, the decorations, their shoes...hell, a few of them were so drunk they were chugging cups of salsa, swearing it was sangria.
“So, I was thinking,” he said, taking my hand in his, “we’ve been in Mexico for seven months now. Stella seems to love it here, and I think she’s used to the idea that I’m her father.”
I nodded. “Kids are resilient.”
“She’s still young, Leighton. If we did it now, I don’t think she’d remember anything different.”
His statement caught me off guard, and I stared at the determination in his eyes. “What are you getting at?”
“Her name.” Lifting our joined hands, he motioned to where Stella still played. “She isn’t a Harcourt, and now you aren’t either. It doesn’t make any sense for her to have a different last name.”
“You want to change her name to Estella Cortes?”
“Yes, I do.” He pushed his shoulders back and inhaled, preparing for a fight, but my answer came without hesitation.
“I agree. Let’s do it.”
The shock on his face was priceless. “That’s it? No arguing?”
“Nah.” I grinned. “I’m trying on compromise for size. It’s a tight fit, but I’ll see how it goes.”
We stood in silence as Stella ran around giggling. After a few moments, Mateo wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close.
“Do you miss home, Mrs. Cortes?”
Home. It’d been a four-letter word to me for so long—a line in the sand drawn by betrayal, faded with time, and grayed with resentment. Until one man changed everything.
Tilting my head back, I gazed at the thousands of stars blanketing the Mexican sky. “Not anymore.” I smiled. “He came back for me.”
DRAWN BLUE LINES