FEAR LIKE I’D NEVER KNOWN stole my breath the same time my chest threatened to explode. I didn’t want the confused emotions swirling in my head any more than I wanted the unbearable ache between my legs every time I was near him.
I could give him what he wanted. I could agree to anything, then do what I wanted, because that’s what I always did, and walk away.
But even the thought tasted like betrayal.
A single word fell from my lips. “Scrupulous.” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a statement. It was fact, and I’d been right. He was the decision I was supposed to make.
“I’m not scrupulous, woman.” His rough voice bent the words away from their meaning until all I heard was the way he called me woman. “We have to go.” He turned toward the door.
I panicked.
Like the first time I stepped foot off the compound, or when I drove Candle to prison, I panicked. But neither of those times did I feel the sheer loss of what I felt in that very second. It was as if my entire future had just turned its back on me, and I didn’t have a choice.
But I did have a choice.
The same choice I’d had when I’d dropped to my knees. “André.” I didn’t say his name. I used the two syllables for what they were, a plea.
His shoulder rose with an inhale, and he turned.
The second his eyes met mine, I hooked my thumbs in my thong underwear, and I slid them over my hips. His gaze dropped to my pussy, and I let my underwear drop to the floor. “Okay,” I whispered.
His eyes cut to mine. “You know what I want?” He didn’t ask it. He growled out the question.
Gooseflesh broke out across my heated skin. “Yes.”
He took the guns from his vest and thigh holster and set them both on the coffee table. Then he took off the vest and holster. “You giving it to me?”
“Yes.” The time for hesitation was gone. “But if this doesn’t work—” He pulled his T-shirt over his head one-handed, and I lost my train of thought.
Stepping up to me, both of his huge, rough hands captured my face. “Chica.” Cocky, mischievous, sexy as hell, the side of his mouth tipped up. “You doubt me?”
Oh my God, that smile. “Depends.” I doubted everything and everyone. “You gonna bring it?”
Throaty and deep, his chuckle slid across my skin like a rough caress. “No.” His smile dropped. “I’m gonna wreck it.”
His lips landed on mine.
Hot Florida sun, gun oil, mint and musk—everything all at once and nothing I’d ever dreamed of—he kissed me. His mouth captured mine, and every way a man can kiss a woman, he kissed me. But when his tongue slid against mine, it was nothing like any kiss I’d ever had.
Everything I expected him to do, he didn’t.
He didn’t slam his mouth over mine. He didn’t crush his body into mine. He didn’t desperately claw at the sexual tension threatening to drown me. His shoulders curved toward me, and with only his hands and his mouth touching my body, he lit me on fire. Soft and gentle, but so fucking dominant and demanding, he angled my head into his and kissed the ever-loving sanity out of me.
My hands wound around his thick wrists, and I held on for dear life. I didn’t kiss him back. I couldn’t. He was singularly creating this storm between us. Lust and intoxicating anticipation rolled across my body like summer thunder. I wasn’t in control of anything. He commanded my mouth like he commanded his hold on me. His thumbs stroking my cheeks, his tongue delving and coaxing, he didn’t just kiss me. His body hovering around mine, he made me feel like I was his entire world.
If this was what a single kiss from him was like, I was no longer just interested, I was addicted. Body and soul.
His forehead touched mine, and he drew back just enough to breathe me in.
Crazed, rattled, more turned on than I’d ever been, a single word spilled out of my mouth. “More.”
His thumb dragged across my bottom lip. “Tell me what to call you,” he quietly commanded.
Chills raced up my spine.
Oh God.
“Decima?” His voice was too rough for a whisper. The name rasped from his lips, but it was gentler than anything I’d ever heard him say.
It scared the hell out of me. “She’s dead.” My voice shook.
He rubbed a finger between my eyebrows. “This creases every time I call you Kendall.”
“Chica,” I blurted. I hated it, and I loved it. For the exact same reason. Because when he said it, I heard the edge of softness in his voice I didn’t hear when he spoke any other words. But in the next instant, I knew why I never should’ve given in to his question.
His answering smile hit both sides of his mouth and lit up his face.
Guilt hit me square in the chest and I dropped my gaze.
I couldn’t look at a man who took every piece of personal information I gave him and acted as if I’d just given him the best gift he’d ever received. I wasn’t a fucking prize. I was a burden, the ultimate burden. Reality took hold and regret like I’d never experienced settled deep in my bones. I knew there was only one outcome if River found out I was with him. He would kill him.
I pushed André away.
Abrupt and swift, as if he’d anticipated my move, he grasped my chin and brought my face back up. “Eyes on me.” He searched my face. “What just happened?”
“Nothing,” I lied. I hadn’t even fucked him, and he already owned me. I wasn’t in trouble. I was completely fucked.
His eyebrows drew together, and he studied me for a moment before his expression shut down and he released me. “Upstairs,” he said curtly, taking a step back. “Get the shower going.”
For the first time since I’d walked into the house, I felt the cold air-conditioning. I wasn’t inhibited. I didn’t give a shit about being naked. But suddenly, I felt like I was on display, and it pissed me the hell off. I needed to take the distance he’d just offered and walk away, but a small part of me, the crazy desperate part, asked what if? What if this ex-marine was the man who could finally take down River Stephens? What if he could do what Candle never had? What if I could actually survive this?
The question was idiotic. Leveraging hope was a dead end, and my time since I’d stepped off the compound had been borrowed. No one left River Ranch. All in or sin out. That was the choice River gave every member when they joined or turned sixteen. Stay or die of sin. What the fuck kind of question was that?
Anger—at River, at Candle, at my fucking birth mother for whatever fucked-up weak excuse she gave for joining a goddamn cult—blossomed like a well-watered weed, and I aimed at the person who was closest. “Get the shower going? Do I look like a dog?”
His phone in his hand, his attention distracted, André glanced at me like I was nothing more than an interruption. “No,” he stated without an ounce of emotion.
That motherfucker. Did he think he could turn the tables on me? “Is this what you do?” Naked and irrational, I bit the question out. “Flip from Latin lover to Luna and Associates bodyguard? You’re so fucking cool, all it takes is a blink of an eye?” I snarled out a laugh. “No wonder you’re fucking single.” I spun and aimed at the stairs.
“Better single than a liar.”
My foot on the first step, I made the mistake of looking back. Except he wasn’t looking at me. His phone in his hand, his head down, he played the casual game like a fucking champion. “A five-year-old has better insults than you.”
“Wasn’t an insult, merely stating fact.” He didn’t even look up. “Take those stairs, chica.” There wasn’t an ounce of affection in the way he said chica. “Keep running.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I spat.
His thumbs flying across his phone as he texted someone, he shook his head like he was disgusted with me.
I stomped up the stairs.