Chapter 23
Joseph
From top to bottom the station was a mess. Agents consulted with the FBI and phoned in their orders. Officers filled out paperwork and attempted to process the amount of witnesses they had gathered from the scene. Clerks were up to their necks making phone calls and summoning lawyers from the four corners of the earth. The first thing Joseph did when he entered the building was call social services on behalf of Cristina.
The paramedics were reluctant to take her straight to the station, but with only topical cuts as her fresh wounds, relented after stressing how important it was that Cristina eat some damn food.
Joseph bought her a light dinner since he was afraid anything heavier would do more harm than good. Cristina was malnourished, but alert, the only things keeping them from having a rousing conversation in the coziest interview room they had being her fear, her fatigue, and her constant questions about her mother. It also did not help that she did not speak any form of standardized Spanish. Joseph recognized her dialect as being decidedly Salvadorian, and without a better interpreter on the premises, convinced his mother to let him interview the girl.
“You said so yourself, I’m emotional and good with interviews,” he said to her. A stack of papers, including notes dictating what questions he should ask, littered his desk. Genevieve hovered nearby, although it was clear she was in a hurry to jet off elsewhere to deal with what was happening in her department. “I’ve already built up a rapport with her anyway. Let me see what I can get out of her.”
“All right,” his mother cosigned. “I’ll be watching through the window.”
That didn’t faze Joseph. What did was facing a sad and scared little girl in a sterile interview room. The one I first reunited with Sylvia in. Ah, shit. Sylvia. Joseph barely had time to process her once again appearing in his life. Where was she now? He didn’t keep up with where she was after Cristina was found.
Yes, yes. Cristina was the most important person right now. Sylvia would have to wait.
She was with a Spanish-speaking social worker, picking at steamed rice and grilled vegetables. An opened carton of milk remained untouched. Why wasn’t she eating? Did she feel too sick? Was she waiting for news of her mother? Joseph decided to take the most fatherly approach he could muster. Whatever level of fatherly that was.
“Cristina,” he said, drawing upon his grandmother’s unique vocabulary to speak with her in ways she might better understand. “Are you feeling any better? Is the food okay? I can get you something else if you prefer.”
She pushed aside the rice and vegetables, shaking her head. Her light brown eyes pleaded with Joseph to fix her situation, but the words that came out of her mouth were carefully thought out and rather couched. “It’s fine. Thanks.”
Joseph minded his demeanor as he set a tape recorder between them and flipped open a legal notepad. The pen clicked to life on yellow paper. Cristina watched his every movement, huddled deep inside a big, baggy sweatshirt pulled from Joseph’s locker. The social worker draped her arm across the back of Cristina’s chair. A knowing look told Joseph that the social worker hoped this interview could be accomplished without sending the girl into a fit. They still didn’t know where her mother was – none of the other supposed runaways had been found, and it wasn’t looking good for some of the injured victims.
“Can you tell me your name, Cristina? Your full name.”
“Maria Cristina de La Esperanza.”
“How old are you?”
She pulled the milk carton toward her. Thank goodness. She was finally feeling comfortable enough to ingest some sustenance.
“Eleven.”
“Where are you from?”
“Here!”
“From Portland? Or do you mean the United States?”
The social worker put a hand of warning on the table. “Let’s not get into that right now.” She put that same hand gentle on Cristina’s arm. “Where do you consider home, Cristina?”
The little girl distracted herself with a long, hearty drink of milk. Joseph finished writing out some more questions he had by the time Cristina was comfortable enough to speak again. “Soya. That’s where Mama and I lived before we came here.”
“She must mean Soyapango,” the social worker said. “That’s in El Salvador.”
I know, thanks. Who was the one who spoke some Salvadoran here? Besides Cristina, obviously. “When did you come to the United States, Cristina?”
“Last year.”
Over the course of a frazzled half hour Joseph got as many personal details out of Cristina as possible. She had been born in and grown up in Soyapango with only her mother and grandmother to take care of her. After her grandmother died, her mother feared one of the men in the neighborhood and decided to go to America with Cristina. Probably gang activity. Joseph was not intimately familiar with Salvadoran gang structure like he was with the Mexican variety, but he knew gangs weren’t good business anywhere. Extortion. “Protection.” Forced prostitution. Drug smuggling, particularly between South and North America. If Cristina’s mother was wrapped up in any of this against her will, then she would have good reason to get the hell out of Soyapango. Unfortunately for many gang refugees, the only way to get into the United Streets was through a different kind of smuggling. Joseph did not doubt that both Cristina and her mother were here illegally, especially when Cristina could not provide the name of her mother’s employer before they were kidnapped by “the joggers.” Like the social worker said, though, this is not the time to get into that.
“So how did you come to be in the back of that big truck, Cristina?”
Her milk was gone by now. Her poor parched throat was probably tired of talking, but Joseph motioned through the one-way mirror for someone to bring Cristina more drink and encouraged her to keep talking.
“I was staying with Mrs. Sanchez while mother was working. She came home early, and Mrs. Sanchez said she heard terrible things about joggers in the neighborhood. My mother was really scared. It felt like Soya again.”
“So what did she do?”
“She took my hand and tried to hurry us home, but it was already midnight and the joggers were out. They… they took us.”
“How many of them were there?”
“Three. Two men and one woman. They were dressed in expensive exercise clothes. The kind the gringos wear.”
Marie Bell. If this happened recently, then it was not jogger Marie, who had died at the hospital a few weeks ago from her injuries sustained after fighting Agent Kline. There are still no answers there.
Joseph was believing more and more that Marie Bell was working for Alexander Sheen’s deplorable enterprise. Who suspected a jogger out for a late night run? If Marie Bell was strong enough to knock Agent Kline into a coma, then she was strong enough to subdue at-risk women and children long enough to take them to wherever they stored waiting bodies.
As it so happened, Cristina had a lot of information about that.
A warehouse somewhere in North Portland acted as the storing cubicle for that week’s catch. A dozen or so women and children were rounded up from around inner Portland and shoved into cages until it was time to load them into the back of a truck and ship them south. Cristina admitted she couldn’t understand most of what the criminals said, but she did say that one of the other victims was bilingual and often lamented being shipped back to Mexico. “She thought the joggers were like the border guards. She thought it was a government operation. That we were all illegals being sent back to Mexico. But that didn’t make any sense. Only she was from Mexico, and two of the women there were homeless white Americans. Why would they send American citizens to Mexico?”
Joseph wouldn’t be the one to tell her. All he knew so far was that victims were routed through Mexico before being jammed into the cargo hold of a plane to Thailand. The details, such as how this was constantly pulled off even with only small groups of victims, were still murky.
“Tell me what you remember about the crash.”
“One of the other women said that she could see into the cab of the truck. I wanted to go there, even with one of the bad men driving, because there were tigers on the other side of our wall and they scared me.” Cristina shivered. “That same woman whispered to the rest of us that we could hijack the truck if we all worked together. I think she knew this wasn’t a deportation, you know? She said we were going to be sold for sex.”
The social worker’s hand clenched. Joseph hesitantly wrote Cristina’s words down in English.
“I stayed with Mama while the others planned to take the truck. I don’t know. It was a blur. I was so scared. I was afraid that the bad man would figure out what we were doing and sic the tigers on us.” Tears crested the poor girl’s eyes. The social worker smoothed down Cristina’s hair. Joseph’s hand gripped his pen until it burned against his skin. “I don’t know what really happened. Just that one moment I was hugging Mama, and the next everything was smoky and the tigers were making noises. I was so scared that I had to run!”
“Do you know what happened to your mother?”
“No! Do you know? Please tell me! She told me not to run away from her… but I was so scared…” Joseph’s sweatshirt was covered in the little girl’s tears by the time she finished speaking.
The door opened behind Joseph. In stepped a fellow agent carrying a bottle of juice in one hand and a stack of photos in the other. “Ask her if any of these women are her mother.” The agent slipped Joseph the photos. “All but one are stable.”
He glanced at the photos. I can’t show these to her. The women who were conscious had glassy eyes and cuts all over their faces. The ones who were unconscious would look like corpses to a little girl. If none of these women were her mother, then they disturbed her for no reason. But if one of them was? She would be even more distraught to see her like this, stable at the ICU or not.
The social worker stepped over while Cristina played with the cap on her orange juice. She’s not here right now. She’s detaching. Probably for the best. Whatever terrible memories Joseph had to dig up were not helping anyone but the justice system.
“Let’s see…” The social worker picked the top photo. “Cristina, does your mother have a birthmark above her right eye?”
Once they finished describing most of the photos to Cristina, the little girl finally admitted that one sounded like her mother. The social worker slowly slid the photo across the table, purposely covering up a facial bruise with her hand. “Is this your mother, Cristina?”
From the way she demanded to be taken to the woman before the Apocalypse began, it was safe to say that yes, that woman was Cristina’s bruised mother.
His own mother’s voice, on the other hand, was what he heard over the speakers shortly afterward. “Great work, Montoya. Come out here for a second.”
He left the tape recorder on but flipped his notes shut. With them tucked beneath his arm, he left the interview room and reconvened with his mother and a few other agents hovering around. “Did you get that?” Joseph jerked his thumb toward the interview room.
“Yes. Martinez was kind enough to translate the important parts.” Nevertheless, Genevieve motioned to the notes her son courted. “But as soon as you have those typed up for me, I would like to see them.”
Of course. Even though she had an affair with a Mexican billionaire heir and partially raised a Spanish-speaking son, Genevieve Stone’s comprehension of the language was still rudimentary at best. Joseph hadn’t taken notes in English simply to amuse himself. His mother would be the first to go over then once they had the chance.
“You’ll also need to send a copy to Agent Lewis here.” A nondescript agent in slacks and a black shirt stepped forward. “Since this is his case now.”
Joseph refused to frown. “Yes, of course. I’ll make sure both you and Agent Lewis get copies of my notes and the full Spanish transcript of the interview.” Did Agent Lewis even speak Spanish? That should’ve been a requirement for working in the department…
“We’re going to want copies too.”
Nobody smiled when they heard that deep, authoritative voice. Joseph was perhaps the least impressed. First his mother, then this Agent Lewis… and now Agent Maggie Jameson sashaying through the station as if she were god’s gift from the FBI? Great. Just great.
“Who sent you?”
“This is officially an FBI matter now,” Maggie said, completely ignoring Agent Lewis in favor of talking directly to Commander Stone and her son. “We’ve got an interstate conspiracy to traffic human beings. My boss is breathing down my neck to commandeer this case, so… here I am.”
“Surely we can somehow work together on this,” Genevieve said. “My agents have been working this case for months.”
“Yes, and I greatly appreciate that. Lets me know where to begin with my own formal investigation.” She put her hands on her hips. Taller than Joseph, Maggie’s slim but muscular figure was more than imposing. It didn’t help that she wore all black, the only color of her outfit the big and yellow FBI letters littering her jacket. Her sidearm was also bigger than anyone else’s in that department. Show off. Joseph didn’t have time for this.
“I’m going to have to talk to your director about this,” Genevieve muttered. “Until I confer with him on these matters, I’m afraid I can’t hand over our notes.”
“You do that.” Maggie lowered her arms the moment she made eye contact with Joseph. “What were you doing in there? I thought you were booted from this case after you and Rogers blew y’all’s cover.”
Joseph kept a tight grip on his notes. “I’m the only one around here who understands Salvadoran.”
“Sounded like regular ol’ Spanish to me…”
“You’re welcome to make the valiant attempt next time.” Joseph stepped away. “I need to type these up. So, if you’ll excuse me…”
Maggie let him go. His mother, on the other hand, followed him to his desk.
“We’re sending the girl back to the hospital for further examination and to see what happens with her mother. Unless we find this supposedly bilingual woman the girl was talking about, that mother is going to be our next best bet to get some information.”
Joseph logged into his computer. “What about the driver?”
“Still unconscious. They’re not sure he’s going to make it.”
“Great. Any casualties?”
“A couple of the victims are touch and go right now, but so far, so good.” She clapped her hand on her son’s shoulder. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else. Email that transcript to me as soon as you have finished it.”
“Will do.”
Was that a glimmer of a smile Genevieve bestowed upon him before she left his side? No way. She wasn’t the kind of woman who smiled at anyone, even her own son. And definitely not at work. Besides, there was nothing to smile about right now.
Joseph blocked out the rabble of the office as soon as his word processor was open. Yet he had barely typed the first three questions he had asked Cristina before someone suddenly occupied the chair next to his.
“Need any help?”
His fingers stalled on the keyboard. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked Sylvia. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
She flashed him a visitor’s pass hanging around her neck. “What do you have to say about that?”
Joseph moved his notepad from his right side to his left. Wasn’t natural for that right-handed man, but it kept Sylvia’s eyes off it. “I have no idea how you got that, but no, I don’t need any help.”
“They took statements from me. You weren’t there. You were talking to the little girl.” Sylvia spun back and forth on her swivel chair, those curls in her hair gliding through the air the faster she spun. Good for you. You’re cute. Joseph had to be hard on himself. Otherwise he would get hard in other ways, and after what he heard in that interview room? Not something he was in the mood for. “How did that go, by the way?”
“I’m not…”
“…at liberty to say.” Sighing, Sylvia kicked back in the chair. Her eyes gazed across his keyboard and toward the yellow legal pad. How good was her eyesight? Because when Joseph wrote in English, it was with big, blocky letters. Easy enough to read if she put some effort into it. “Did you find any of the other people?”
“No. Two women are still at large, we believe.”
“Would it be a problem if they’re never found? They probably went to people they trust.”
“We would want all the statements and witnesses possible, so yes, they should be found. Right now we only have an eleven year old who doesn’t speak English as our witness. And she’s probably not here legally, so that complicates matters even further.” Heaven forbid if she was relied on for testifying in court. They needed to find more witnesses before Sheen covered his tracks in this mess. Good luck with that. They had one of his trucks smuggling women and children down the 205 freeway. He would definitely deny any involvement, but his company was tainted now.
“Shouldn’t you be out there looking for them?”
Joseph stopped typing. “Not my case anymore.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“So… do you want some help? I can type 100 words per minute. That’s pretty good, yeah? I’ll even decipher your chicken scratch in record time.”
“That would not be protocol.”
“Well, darn, huh?”
Joseph went ahead and gave her what she obviously craved: his undivided attention. Bad idea. He didn’t know where she had been before they met that night, but she was dressed to kill a man in his sleep. Her little black dress hugged her hips and highlighted her breasts without daring to be vulgar. Smooth, white legs crossed one another, black strappy sandals showing off her pink toenails. Joseph knew he was losing focus when he lingered on the gleam of her skin and remembered how intoxicating it was to kiss her thighs and dive into her cleft.
“What do you want, Sylv?” Please don’t say me.
She readjusted the straps of her dress, wiggling back and forth in her seat, putting every asset of hers on full display. Because what Joseph really needed right now was to think about sex. With her. All night long and not necessarily in bed.
Too late.
“I’m trying to be helpful. It’s almost like I have some stake in this investigation.” She scooted closer to him. Crap. She was wearing pretty perfume. Gardenias. Fucking gardenias. Joseph’s stepmother had a small gardenia garden in front of her house that he used to roll around in as a kid. “I want that guy to go down. Tell me what I can do to help.”
“Stay out of the way?”
“Ha. Ha.”
Don’t touch her, man. Don’t do it. Joseph’s hand twitched to wrap around her calf and indulge in how silky she felt. Because I remember, and I’m a fucking dumbass. There had been no closure between them, and that was his own fault. Cut her off like a thread hanging from his shirt, he had. No meaning. No explanations. No follow-ups. Cold, hard dumping that would probably get him yelled at by every woman he knew with the last name Montoya.
Sylvia reacted to his discomfort by eking backward in her chair. “Sorry. Maybe I want to talk. Guess that makes me stupid or something.”
“Now’s not a good time.”
“When will it be a good time?”
Joseph opened his arms to the chaos ensuing in the office. Agents who had gone home only to turn around again milled about in loafers and heels alike. One female agent was dressed to go to the theater. Another already had her jeans thrown back on. A male agent showed up in his gym clothes after being summoned without first getting a shower. Everyone kept their fair distance from him.
“That’s not an answer,” Sylvia said. “You’ve gotta leave sometime. Like I heard… you’re not even on this case anymore.”
“Then if you want to help, you should go find my mother.”
“Yikes. I’ll pass.”
“Go home. If they have any follow-up questions, they’ll call you. Besides…” He pretended to be transfixed with his work. “It’s Friday night. Don’t you have work?”
Sylvia scoffed in disbelief. “Really tactful, Joseph.”
“I’m serious. Big night at the strip club, I’m sure.”
“Oh. Thought you meant the other night work.”
Joseph shook his head. “I tend to not think about that.” Thinking about what Sylvia did to make some extra money left a bad taste in his mouth. Why, though? It never bothered him before. So what if she did that? As long as he wasn’t forced to arrest her for it, it didn’t mean anything to him. It’s because I can’t stand the thought of her doing it. They weren’t a couple. They had never been a real couple. The closest they got to solidifying a relationship was based on casual sex anyway. Sylvia had her job to do, and Joseph was busy with work. There was no room for love in either of their lives.
Even so, had she been on a date tonight? Had the man been respectful of her? Had he paid her to do things she had never even offered Joseph? Had she enjoyed herself, or was it another job? Was it like… with Sheen?
Joseph couldn’t type anymore.
“It’ll take me about a half hour to finish this up,” he said. “There’s an empty office over there. Meet me there in thirty minutes, and we’ll talk for as much time as I can spare.”
Sylvia stood up as gracefully as a ballerina. Her nimble legs shuffled in her constricting skirt, and her hands – bedecked with genuine gems – grazed his cheek. “Fair deal. I’ll see you later. Good luck with your thing.”
Joseph took a minute to regroup his thoughts and refocus on his work at hand. Stop thinking about that distracting woman. How sad was he, anyway? Every time he was around Sylvia, he turned into a slobbering dog. What kind of spell had she cast on him? Was it part of her job? Or did she naturally ooze seductive charm? Was it because he remembered how good she felt wrapped around him? How good it felt to be inside of her? How easy it was to want her, to have her? She would probably be my girlfriend if I asked. A demanding girlfriend, to be sure. Always wanting his playful attention. Always wanting to be spoiled. Damn. What a hard life.
On the other, she was like a slinky cat: always on the prowl. If it wasn’t Joseph, then it would be some other man. As sweet as Sylvia was, she wasn’t the kind of woman Joseph could rely on for anything more than casual sex. Great, mind-melting sex that was as passionate as it was cathartic, but always casual. Sylvia couldn’t offer him the type of relationship he craved or, well, monogamy.
All he could count on was having someone to be with until he found a more permanent partner, whenever that would be. Not only did that feel wrong, but Joseph wasn’t sure he could emotionally handle any relationship that had no chance of progressing toward marriage and children. Thanks, Angelica. You set the standard. Joseph was too empathetic for his own good.
It took him longer than half an hour to finish up his transcript. Sylvia was constantly on his mind, and he made so many mistakes that it was a miracle his mother didn’t come breathing her icy breath down the back of his neck. But Joseph didn’t let himself rest until he had saved his transcript to his cloud and sent a copy to his mother’s work email. By then, the office had thinned out a bit, most of the agents either at the hospital or out investigating other leads. Joseph had nothing else to do unless otherwise assigned. Time to go meet Sylvia.
She was where he told her to be, sitting outside the empty office. Sylvia covertly played with her phone while it was shoved in the bottom of her bag – open use of cell phones was prohibited to visitors, but nobody would care right now. It kept her quiet and out of the way.
Joseph glanced around the office before opening the office door. Nobody ever thought to look in when it wasn’t occupied. “Come on,” he grumbled in Sylvia’s direction. “I’ve got a few minutes.”
“Ooh, a few minutes. I’m a lucky girl.” Sylvia followed him with alacrity.
Joseph didn’t turn on the lights, but left half the blinds open to let in the greater office light. Five stark lines of light illuminated Sylvia’s face as if they were in a classic film noir matinee. What am I, then? Some deadbeat detective? Probably. He needed a cigarette and a trench coat. Instead, Sylvia got a wrinkled dress shirt and his incredible urge to chew on the inside of his cheek. I don’t smoke, anyway. Not since he thought he was a cool kid in high school, as short lived as that bad decision was.
“This must be personal.” He cleared his throat. “Am I wrong?”
Sylvia’s cocky half-smile went straight to Joseph’s loins. Oh, for fuck’s sake down there… This was worse than when she surprised him with a blowjob in his car. Now he sort of expected it. No, no, we’re not doing that… Joseph had made enough brash decisions recently. All of them concerning this woman who had some inexplicable hold over his head.
And heart.
His damned heart.
“Why did you break it off with me like that?”
He expected a question like that. What he did not expect was the tone it was asked in. Aggressive, yeah. Hurt, sure. Not some strange combination of both. Sylvia was wounded and refused to let it show. Except it did show, right there beneath the edge that cut her tongue and stabbed Joseph in his throat.
“It was rather unprofessional of me.”
“Fuck professional.” Sylvia’s crossing arms put up a barricade between them. For the best. Joseph didn’t need any real temptations now that they were alone. “I’m talking about a personal thing. We were talking about having something between us… and then the night you basically save my ass from a fate straight from my nightmares you cut off all contact and I never hear from you begin.” Sylvia may have pouted, but her voice was tragically firm. “I don’t want to admit this, but it hurt. Fuck you.”
Joseph didn’t know what was worse: her saying those words, or saying them with nothing but lethargy in her soul.
“If you wanted to break up,” she cut him off the moment he tried to speak, “you should have said so. I can handle it. Just none of that cold turkey bullshit. Did I do something?”
Worst of all, that was doubt hanging between them. Sylvia cast her eyes downward, feet scuffling, fingers twitching against her bent arms. Joseph sighed. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I wish I had a proper excuse for you, but I don’t.” Nah, he couldn’t make eye contact either. Not when she looked like that. “You want the truth?”
Her glare kicked him in the groin. “Uh, yeah?”
“I never contacted you again because I was afraid I was making a huge mistake. You and I weren’t supposed to happen, Sylv.”
Although her lip trembled, Sylvia did not yell or cry. She stiffened, and that was enough to tell Joseph that the truth really was not what he was supposed to say, no matter if it was the right thing to convey. “Weren’t supposed to happen? What’s that mean?”
“You know…”
“No, I don’t. Please enlighten me, though. I’d love to know how I’m not good enough for you.” Hair as limp as her posture fell across her face. “Is it because of my history? It’s your family, huh? Shit, Joseph, I was never serious about us… not like… marriage serious…”
“Stop.” Dare he touch her? Put his hands on her shoulders, if only to steady her? To get her to look him in the eye? Why are hers so full of rejection? Oh, right, because he had gone out of his way to reject her. Again. “Don’t do that to yourself. It’s not like that at all. But after I blew our cover that night, I had to pull back and think about a lot of things. Namely my ability to do my damn job.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have played along with Sheen so you didn’t freak out and do that…”
“What? For real, Sylv?” How the hell was she blaming herself for this? “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I wasn’t going to let that asshole hurt you. We would – will – find another way to get him. This accident tonight was terrible for him. We’ll get the evidence we need, I promise.”
“I don’t care about that.”
Joseph released her. “You don’t?”
“Well, yes, of course I care about that, but it’s not what I’m here to talk about. I want to talk about us.”
“What is there to talk about?”
“Is there even an us?”
Joseph’s sagging shoulders could not have been making his wrinkled shirt look better. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. We’re not compatible, Sylv. It’s a terrible time for me, what with work and my recent dating history…”
“So I was a rebound? Tell me I was a rebound. I can handle it.”
If that’s what she wanted. “You were a rebound, Sylvia. Sorry.”
“Sure. Okay. And you were a rebound for me, too. It was nice to actually feel wanted for once. You know, real wanted.”
Another slam to my balls. This was not going how Joseph wanted. But what did he want? A clean breakup, no hard feelings? Sylvia could say she didn’t care how he truly felt all she wanted. It clearly hurt her. What, did she think she was going to walk up to him, grab his cock, and subdue him into bed forever? That wasn’t how it worked. That wasn’t how he worked.
Even though he wanted her. Right now.
Don’t cry. Don’t feel bad. I’m sorry. I’ll make it right again. That’s what he would’ve said before, to any other woman. Back when he was desperate to hang on to his girlfriends, the women he had convinced himself were the loves of his life. Even that real rebound Stella had a hold on his heart for longer than was kosher. I was so heartsick that I latched onto her too quickly. Would he ever get over Angelica enough to move on to other relationships? He didn’t want to hurt Sylvia. Because from the way his heart had begun to ache around her, he figured they were on the fast track to making too many mistakes that they would regret when it came time to part ways.
“Kiss me.”
Joseph snapped himself out of his thoughts. “What?”
Arms lowering, Sylvia looked like she was about to march into a boardroom and bust some corporate balls. Or launch into a briefing room and scare the wrath of God into some slacking agents. But her ire and determination were not for other men. They were for Joseph, who stood stoically before her.
“I told you to kiss me. I dare you to kiss me and then tell me that you don’t feel anything. Because you’re not leaving again unless you’re damn sure that you can stand to be without me.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy? I want to kiss you, Joseph. Is that really crazy? Does my having affection for you make me crazy.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“To hell it wasn’t. Now, are you going to kiss me or not?”
No.
Yes.
No title could be attributed to the war waging between Joseph’s head and his heart. The generals had been summoned, the treaties drafted, and the kings waiting on their thrones with bated breath, yet both armies remained at a critical impasse. His head demanded that he walk away. That he be the bigger person, the smart man, the one undaunted by a pretty woman who made his heart flutter and his lips twitch into the first real smiles of the year. Don’t fall for it. Just because Angelica made you feel like this doesn’t mean another woman will. It’s wishful thinking. She’s not even the right type of woman. You know what she does for a living? Sure, she talks about stopping if she finds someone she wants to be with, but what makes you think you’ll be that man? She likes businessmen. Tycoons. Heirs to crazy fortunes. You know, the kind of fortune you’re never going to inherit, you fucking bastard.
His heart, on the other hand, was a petulant, vindictive child still desperate to love and be loved. Blood thundered in his head whenever he looked at Sylvia. Enough to drown out his thoughts? Was that how his heart was going to win? By pounding the drums of war until his brain could no longer be heard?
However it was going to win, the fact was that it won at all. Joseph pulled Sylvia to him and kissed her.
Don’t feel anything. Don’t feel anything? Might as well have asked him to stop breathing! That was the problem with kissing Sylvia. She was a living stimulus, the kind of woman that made most men fall down to their knees and promise her the moon and its children the stars. She deserved love and pleasure. Deserved them! What better man to give that to her than Joseph? He knew when to be tender. He knew when to ravage. That’s me right now. He couldn’t be tender. The moment his lips crashed against hers, his tongue instantly forcing her teeth apart so he could explore the world that existed within her, tenderness fled.
She had teased him before about being a dramatic kisser. She wasn’t the first woman to tell him that. Because when Joseph Montoya wanted a woman, he kissed her until she knew it. No quirky little pecks. No brushes, dancing around the edges, or grazing the surface. No, no, no. The only way to let a woman know that a man loved her was by kissing like a criminal with one night of freedom left. Joseph had so much to offer that he often feared he would lose a piece of himself every time he kissed somebody new.
And the more dramatic he became, the needier his actions were.
“Joseph,” Sylvia whimpered when he was foolish enough to allow her a single breath. “What if someone sees us in here?”
“You were the one who asked for a kiss.” How dare she interrupt him? He was busy. Kissing her. Why the fuck would he care about anyone chancing a glance into an empty office and seeing the boss’s kid take a break with a pretty woman? I am a mess. An utter, unsaveable mess. God help him.
“This isn’t a kiss.” Sylvia was silenced with his tongue, but only for a moment. “This is erotic asphyxiation!”
Good.
But if she was complaining that much, he could kiss her throat. Or her breasts. Or her stomach. Or… or…
“Oh my God,” Sylvia muttered, bracing herself against the abandoned desk behind her. “You’re insane.”
Insane with lust, yeah.
Joseph figured he had about five minutes to make her come. And he wanted to. Now, yesterday, a year ago… making any woman orgasm was one of the sweetest gifts, but making Sylvia climax was a cosmic reward. As soon as he heard a moan of approval kill them both inside, Joseph was on his knees, yanking up the skirt of her dress and diving between her thighs.
This is it. I’ve lost my fucking mind. The war continued to rage inside of him. Only now it was between the sex-starved part of his brain and the rationale that chided him for being so stupid. “You do know that this is not going to end well, right? If your grandmother saw you going down on a girl in the office, she’d die of a heart attack. Let’s not talk about what your mother would say.” What was wrong with him? Thinking about things like that when pussy was a kiss away.
“Oh!” Sylvia grabbed his head and jerked against his face. Or maybe she jerked against the table. “Okay. We’re doing this.”
Finally, she was on his page of this fucked up book. Sit still and enjoy yourself, damnit. The more she squirmed, moaned, and asked him what this was about, the more he doubted himself. I don’t want to doubt. I want to do this. Sylvia had such headiness to her that Joseph could easily fall in lust over and over again. Besides, if she thought he was a dramatic kisser up top? Then she hadn’t received the full service.
“Fuuuuck.” At least she had lowered the volume. And at least she was wet for him. Petite fingers curled his hair around them. Thighs opened to give his face greater access to her opening cleft. Her clit begged for his attention. There. Over and over, round and round, his tongue lashed against it, occasionally dipping into her center and tasting the incredible essence of a woman who wanted him. He sampled her greedily. Damn what the thoughts in his head said. Joseph only listened to the ones commanding him to make Sylvia feel like the queen of their private universe.
Feel like my queen.
Sylvia muffled the sounds of her pleasure with her hand. Not that Joseph needed to hear her scream to know she was coming. That was apparent when his tongue tasted nothing but her. When her inner walls closed in on his tongue. When her clit became so swollen that he couldn’t leave it alone.
When she said that she loved him.
Did Sylvia know that she was saying such things? Or had Joseph misheard her? He was thrown so far off his course that he almost missed the moment her thighs shook against his face and her fingers dug into his scalp.
Almost.
Joseph did not linger between her legs. As soon as they both came back to their senses, he was up, batting away her hands as they lunged for his zipper. Did she want to return the favor? Did she want him to fuck her? Didn’t matter. There was no time for that…
Nonsense.
But she did lull him into one last kiss. This one was not as passionate as the ones before, but it needn’t be. Its only function was to make Sylvia happy and to give Joseph one last chance to think.
Idiot. He continued to mentally admonish himself as he continued to kiss her. You’re in too deep with her. What are you doing? Cut her off, before you both get hurt.
No, no he didn’t want to do that. He wanted to take her home and make love to her.
Kiss her one more time and you’re doomed. You know that. How could you have a life with her? How will a woman fuck up your career this time? Are you going to throw it all away for someone again?
Let her go.
Joseph abruptly pulled away, leaving Sylvia’s head spinning before him. “Wow,” she said. “That was… a kiss, man.”
Don’t touch her.
He already had his hand on the doorknob. “All right,” he said. “I kissed you.”
“And?”
Joseph didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see what he did to her when he said, “You were right. I needed to kiss you to make sure I felt nothing for you.” He opened the door. “And I don’t. You should go home.”
Sylvia hopped off the desk, but Joseph was already heading straight for the restroom. He had to get that brainwashing taste out of his mouth before he truly was a hopeless case.