“Who was that guy you were talking to near the dressing room?”

The man had left, brushing past me as I had made my way to her.

“He was asking for directions.” She shrugs and heads for the exit as well.

I blow out a frustrated breath and follow her out.

We’ve been walking around Havana for the last five hours because she wanted out of the house, and I couldn’t exactly disagree with her.

We haven’t talked about last night. In fact, we’ve both done our best to avoid conversation all day today. I’m still trying to wrap my head around her words last night, and as much as I want to pin her to the wall and force her to look at me so she can see in my eyes how much she matters to me, I’m giving her space.

At least, for today.

My patience is running out, though.

Monster inside me or not—I want her, and I won’t give up until she’s mine in every way possible, even if I don’t truly understand what that even means right now.

In the plaza, I look up at the sky, and it’s as if the sun is burning the buildings as it lowers to the ground. “Sure he wasn’t hitting on you?” I ask once at her side. “A little odd for him to be asking for help near the women’s changing room—don’t you think?”

“So what if he was flirting?” She stops walking and faces me.

I almost laugh. “What? You think I’m some young kid who will throw down with a guy for making a pass at his woman?”

Her head angles, and I can tell she’s fighting a smile. “Based on your personality—yes.”

But the sudden warmth in her eyes disappears in a second.

She’s got her walls back in place.

They’re walls I learned to break down, which means I can do it again.

“I want to get drunk. I need to get my mind off everything while we wait for news from Jessica.”

I assume I’m also classified under the everything category.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She ignores me and points to a bistro up the way where a band is playing near an outdoor seating area. “Well, too bad for you, because I don’t need permission.”

She nearly skips out of reach, her hair whipping up behind her as she moves away.

A low laugh blasts from deep within my chest and hits the air—if she’s purposefully trying to get a rise out of me, she’s succeeded.

Two hours later, she begins to dance, and instantly gathers the attention of everyone with a pulse.

I leave the table after a few minutes and reach for her elbow.

My patience is officially gone.

“You need to sit. Drink some water.”

“What?” She holds her hand to her ear. “I can’t hear you.”

She spins away and continues to sway her hips, doing some ridiculously sexy salsa moves that have me considering ways we could use some of her talents in the bedroom later.

“Dance,” Gia shouts over the music and comes closer. There’s a passionate plea in her eyes that the alcohol has helped to unmask.

I go to her, unable to stop myself, and our fingers lace.

I pull her in so close I can feel her heart beating against my chest, and the way she starts to move her body, grinding against my cock a few minutes later, has me wondering if we’ll even make it back to the house.

The thumping of the Cuban music and the loud sounds around us from other people dancing and singing along—it becomes background noise.

All I can see is her.

And I know all I’ll ever see is her.

I wrap my arms around her hips and drop my mouth over hers, suddenly not able to give a fuck about our argument last night.

Once back at the house, I pin her to the wall without hesitation and hold her in place, commanding her eyes to meet my gaze.

She’s breathing hard, nearly panting, and some nagging in my gut is telling me this is our last time. But I ignore it. How can I not?

“Tell me you’re mine.” I can smell the tequila on her breath, and it mixes with mine. I haven’t drunk this much in a long damn time, and it’s not normal for my head to feel so foggy, but she kept pushing the drinks on me, and tonight, I didn’t say no.

Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t have to, though.

Her eyes say it all.

The brightness is there—the lie has been lifted, and I can see how she feels, now more than ever before. She can throw bullshit at me and try to push away all she wants, but I’m never letting go.

I lean forward and say, “I don’t have a tie or cuffs, but if I did, I’d be using them tonight.”

Her mouth finds my ear, and her breath has my balls tightening even more. “I’ll hold on to the headboard tonight. I promise.”

---

Sunlight hits my eyes like a flare being shot right before me, and I jerk my hands to try and cover my face, but something hard rubs against my wrists, stopping me from moving them.

My vision is off, but I squint, trying to figure out what the hell is going on right now.

Handcuffs?

How much did we drink last night?

I blink a few times, attempting to focus on what I’m cuffed to, while I try to remember last night.

Gia and I were drunk, dancing near Revolution Square, when—shit, where the hell is she?

“Gia,” I croak out in a hoarse voice.

After a minute, a semi-lucid state starts to lift some of the fog from my brain, and I realize I’m cuffed to the steering wheel of the DeSoto.

What the hell is going on?

I twist in my seat to look around, my head spinning like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl, but I’m alone.

My stomach is doing somersaults. My body is shaky like it hasn’t been since . . .

I’m on drugs. But—how?

I bang my head against the back of the seat and pinch my eyes closed for a moment, needing to remember what else happened last night.

The sudden tap-tap-tap on the driver’s side door has my body flinching, the noise like a jackhammer in my ears.

A man circles the DeSoto with something in his hands, and it’s not until he’s holding a lighter in front of the car do I realize what I’m smelling.

Gasoline.