But nothing could’ve prevented me from coming unraveled the moment I saw him. Four years wasn’t a lot of time in the grand scheme of things, but in a young girl’s memory, it may as well have been twenty.
He’d changed. The shiny, coal black hair that had once grazed his chin, now hung to his shoulders in unruly waves. The sparse dusting of facial hair I used to love to touch now looked thicker, covering his chin and upper lip as if hiding a dangerous secret. He was more muscular, obviously putting hours of effort into building strength and power. I’d felt it in his touch—no longer gentle as much as demanding.
But it was his eyes that held me captive. The same ones that snuck into my dreams in the middle of the night and robbed me of peace. They were smoky, like a freshly-extinguished campfire and just as suffocating. However, unlike the ones from my dreams, the ones today never warmed with a smoldering ember underneath the char.
Today’s version was so cold, I could’ve seen my own breath.
My dad used to tell me that a person’s eyes were the window to their soul.
“A man can change everything about himself, Lil’ Bit, but his eyes will always tell you the truth. They’re the one thing he can’t control or alter. Look long enough into a man’s eyes and you’ll know his real intentions.”
My father was rarely wrong. Also, if that was the case, then Mateo Cortes’s real intentions were worse than anything Luis Delgado or Alex Atwood could ever do, and all the stars in the sky couldn’t save me.
“No,” I repeated, shaking my head harder as my fingers went numb. “I’m just paranoid. That was a long time ago, and it’s not him. It’s definitely not—”
The rest of my affirmation was cut off by a rattle on the bathroom door.
“Just a minute,” I called out, releasing my hold on the sink and shaking the feeling back into my hands. Turning on the faucet, I’d just cupped my hands to clean the blood from my cut when the locked doorknob rattled again. Irritated, I tilted my chin over my shoulder. “I said I’d be out in a minute. Jesus, impatient much?”
My answer was a series of random clicks then one pop. I froze as the knob turned and the door swung open. I should’ve been shocked. I should’ve been offended, pissed, outraged, and whatever other highly emotional adjective applied for such an invasion of privacy. Instead, I felt faint, my peripheral vision darkening until nothing remained but him.
The wicked curve of his lips stole my breath as he closed and locked the door behind him. Stepping backward, he reclined into it with one foot braced against the wood. Moody eyes stared me up and down.
“Hello, Star.”
Even to my own ears, my gasp sounded pathetic. “Do I know you?”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Once? Yes. Now? No, not at all.”
When I inhaled to show my annoyance, I caught the scent of caramelized leather and almost crumbled. Gripping the sink again, I forced myself to face him with all the conviction I could muster. “I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. Besides, I’m sure the owner wouldn’t appreciate his patrons breaking into the ladies’ room.”
He chuckled at my challenge. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, and you know who I am so, cut the shit. And just so you know, I don’t take orders from the owner.”
“Well, don’t we have a high opinion of ourselves.”
“I’ve earned the right.”
Maybe I hadn’t changed as much as he had, but I wasn’t stupid. From his cheap shots and short answers, I knew exactly what he wanted. Even through this new exterior, I could still read him, and the message was loud and clear. He wanted a reaction. Perhaps one that gave him justification for leaving me when I needed him the most. Well, tough shit. He wouldn’t get one. I missed the boy, but I’d be damned if I’d let the man provoke me into opening old wounds.
“Well, I’ll just leave you and your ego to whatever pressing business it is you both have in the ladies’ room and get back to work.” I pushed away from the sink until we stood so close, the top of my head slid right under his chin. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He didn’t touch me. Instead, he took a step forward. Then another one. Then another one. Startled, I moved with him, backing up to counteract his advances.
Step. Shift. Counter. Shuffle. Twist. Dip.
We were poetry in motion, and if I hadn’t forgotten how to breathe, I might have marveled at how quickly we’d fallen in sync. However, the reminder that our fluidity was just an illusion came rushing back as soon as my ass hit the edge of the sink and he blocked me against it, an inked arm on either side.
“Settle down. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Really? Who’s going to stop me? Are you going to manhandle me now too?”
“I don’t have to touch you, Star.” As if reading my own salacious thoughts, he pressed his hips dangerously close to mine. “You’re not going to leave because you don’t want to.” On the last word, his breath fanned across my cheek, blowing my hair and igniting a firestorm. Shifting his stance, he closed the remaining distance between us, the swell of his bottom lip brushing against the shell of my ear. “Although, leaving is your specialty, isn’t it?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snapped, although it came out more like a moan.
He pulled back and stared at me. “Walking away, mi amor. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Turning your back on those you profess to love is yours. Of course, I suppose Luis found that out firsthand.”
Oh, God, he knew.
How could Brody have told him? Everything I thought I knew just exploded in my face, so I did the only thing I could to cover the pain in my voice. I masked it with rage from opening an old scar.
“Are you insane or just plain cruel? You left me, you selfish dick!”
He tensed as he pulled back, his eyes burning into mine. “Women’s tongues are bathed in lies. I’d watch yours, little lamb, before someone decides to relieve you of it.”
I didn’t pause to think. My hand flew on its own, ready to strike. Inches before my palm connected with his cheek, his fingers wrapped around my wrist and held it with enough pressure to show me he was in control.
A delicate balance of pain and pleasure. So familiar, yet so foreign.
I flinched as he raised his other hand to my face, the lines in his forehead deepening as he studied me. Opening his palm, he ran it down the length of my hair, his fingers stopping at the barrette to release the clasp that held most of it back. As my straight blonde hair tumbled around my shoulders, he hummed his appreciation, continuing his path until he rubbed the ends between his fingers.
“You cut your hair.”
“I had to,” I whispered. “It was just more practical for...” I sighed and shook my head. “...it was just more practical.”
His serious expression faded as a self-indulgent smirk settled across his mouth, he wound a handful around his fist and gave it a tug. “Still enough to grab.”
He had me at his mercy. Words were my only weapon.
“You’ve become quite crude.”
“Being sent to prison does that to a man.”
I stared at him, openmouthed and wide-eyed.
He cocked his head and rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know what happened that night.”