Chapter 5
Jonah was gone when she got up the next morning. Carla wanted to be thrilled that she wouldn’t have to face him after putting him in various compromising positions in her masturbatory fantasies, but she found herself feeling bereft of his mean face and gruff voice.
She’d have to rely on Lola’s very strong coffee for thrills today.
But that wasn’t to be either. Lola was gone, and there was no trace of coffee. She’d have to leave the house in order to get it. There was only one problem—aside from flying here and drinks with Jonah, she’d sort of been hiding out in her apartment since the breakup.
And now that she was at another place that felt like home, she didn’t want to leave. Not on her own. The thought of leaving made her nauseous.
Only the specter of a caffeine withdrawal-induced migraine had her showering and dressing, sunglasses firmly on her face. They were so large, they made her feel like she was in disguise. Back in Miami, even those hadn’t been enough to shield her from glares of judgment—both real and imaginary—every time she left the house. But maybe they’d do the trick here.
She’d never been like this before. Always the fun one. Perpetually up for a party. Until Geoff undermined her confidence on the way out the door.
Now, she didn’t know who she was anymore. She didn’t know who she wanted to be—who she could be—if she wasn’t in a relationship. She’d always had a boyfriend. A man to impress, someone to keep her safe.
Once she stepped out, the ocean air and sounds from neighbors, already well into their day, threatened to overwhelm her. Her throat closed up and her pulse raced faster with every step she took away from the house. She’d put on heels, even though it was a terrible decision, because they made her feel confident, and she needed every bit of confidence she could get right now.
But swagger wouldn’t keep her from face-planting when her heel caught in one of the cobblestones.
So she walked carefully up the block, several men hanging out in doorways smiling at her and saying lewd things to her in Spanish. Just a few months ago, it might not have bothered her. She might have been able to flash her sparkly engagement ring at them, like a force field. It had been so big, it had chastened even the most brazen catcaller. Either that, or the thought of mugging her distracted them from catcalling. Unconsciously, she’d been using it as a symbol of her own worth. That symbol had come back to bite her the first time she looked down at the thin tan line where the ring had been. Even now that it had faded, she caught herself looking at her left hand like it would tell her where she’d gone wrong.
And even though she could admit that she and Geoff weren’t right for each other, she’d thought he’d been solid. They had no heat, nothing going in the bedroom. She’d thought that their genuine affection would grow into something more. So, she’d waited and compromised her passion and excitement about life day-by-day, month-by-month, until there’d been nothing left of her. She didn’t know who she was anymore because Geoff had left her with nothing. Worse, she’d abandoned herself.
The unfamiliar sights and sounds and smells gathered around her and made her chest feel tight. She could have sworn there was a coffee shop a few blocks from her aunt’s house. But, by the time she’d walked what felt like ten miles in her stupid shoes, she was limping and still un-caffeinated. Panic was closing in, and she was too far from home to just turn back empty-handed.
Then, she looked back and saw the group of guys who’d been talking to her following her. Just what she needed, a pack of admirers. As she moved more slowly, they picked up their pace until they were about ten feet behind her. There was nothing in her stomach, but she felt the bottle of water she’d had lurching around. If she could have just found a coffee shop, she could have waited them out. Now, she needed to get the hell out of here.
She looked around for a taxi, but she’d walked away from the busy streets. Thinking about all of her stupid mistakes, she’d walked off course. She started looking for an open door to a church, a shop, something. After about a half-block, there was an older woman hanging laundry outside of her house.
Carla rushed over, and explained in Spanish—as quickly as she could and without pointing them out—what was going on. The woman gave her a genuine smile Carla trusted, and motioned her into the house. Carla walked straight through to the back of the house and across a tiny garden.
She opened up the garden gate to an alley. There was no sign of the guys who’d talked to her, so she walked out of the garden and finally took in some air.
Her eyes stung, and she squeezed them closed. Jesus. What was wrong with her? She imagined Geoff calmly explaining that he knew that she was a nut job underneath the thin veneer of socialite. Of course he had. That’s why he’d left her. A tear slipped down her face, which she brushed away.
She leaned against a brick wall, aged and scummy-feeling from disrepair. What she really needed was to get her shit together and get home. If she could just make it out to a busy street, she could find a taxi, but she wasn’t ready to take her chances on a busy street yet.
Think of something happy.
Unbidden, Jonah popped into her head. His smirk, the one that told her he thought she was full of shit, pushed back some of the anxiety ripping through her system.
Then she opened her eyes and her distress ramped back up. She hugged herself around the waist and bowed her head, trying to get her breathing back on track. She wished there was someone she could call, but her cell wouldn’t work down here. And she didn’t want to be the one calling for help anymore. She needed to be the person who picked herself up and dusted herself off.
Carla didn’t know how long she stood there. She lost track of time and space, digging deep inside, trying to remember how it felt to be safe.
Blood still rushed past her eardrums, creating a mighty white noise that drowned out the people sounds, the street noise. She gulped down deep, slow breaths until a clicking—the kind a camera shutter made—came close, and she felt the heat of a huge body.
She knew it was Jonah before she opened her eyes. His minty soap was distinct among the rotted food and garbage. Hell, she’d known it was him as soon as she’d heard the first shutter click. Every bit of her was aware of him in a way she hadn’t felt in years—maybe ever.
He stopped about a foot from her, but he didn’t try to touch her. Of course, he wouldn’t. He probably didn’t have a sick preoccupation with her like she did him. She could admit that the last two nights’ solo fun had been weird and creepy on her part. Still, her lower abdomen tugged inward when she got a smell of his sun- and work-warmed body.
“Breathe.” He commanded her, but the word was soft. Like he could make her breathe, but he wanted her to do it on her own.
“Trying.” Sweat trickled between her breasts. She was sure she made a really attractive picture right now, sweaty and falling apart.
“Can I touch you?”
His words buzzed through her. She opened her eyes then. Seeing him standing there, in a T-shirt he’d probably had for decades and jeans worn to the exact specifications of his enormous quadriceps, she had to stop herself from begging him to touch her.
“You’re asking?”
“Of course I’m asking.” He ran a hand over his head, bringing the strands of hair that made him look like a jacked-up pirate away from his brow. “Can I touch you?”
“To do what?” Carla huffed out a breath, noting that she wasn’t shaking anymore, and she didn’t feel like she was going to puke. Progress. “Are you going to pick me up and throw me into the ocean?”
He laughed, and it was the most magical sound on the entire island, maybe in the whole Caribbean Sea right then. His laugh vibrated through her skin. She felt as though she was being washed in his amusement, which was all well and good until she remembered that he was laughing at her.
She scowled at him despite her sudden, inexplicable urge to join in his little giggle fest. “I’m serious. You think I’m trying to scam a member of my family. Why wouldn’t you want to hurt me?”
He moved closer, so close she could feel his breaths, big breaths, against her cheek. He rested one clenched fist against the wall behind her, leaving her an escape. She wouldn’t take it because she wasn’t sure she could make herself get out of the shelter his body created right then.
“One.” He stuck up the index finger of his free hand. “I have never hurt a woman.”
“I believe you.” She did. Despite the fact that having her character besmirched irritated her, she didn’t think he was an abusive shitbag.
He just ignored her confession, as if it was foregone that she would believe him. “Two.” His middle finger went up, and she imagined it slipping between her dress and the skin above her breast. Having him this close and thinking about him touching her was going to make her lose her mind. Not a problem that either of them needed. “I was probably wrong about you.”
The words sounded like they’d been wrenched out of him, as though he rarely, if ever, admitted that he made a mistake or misjudged a situation.
“So you don’t think I’m a silly, spoiled brat?”
“You are a silly, spoiled brat. But you’re not trying to rip Lola off.” He dropped his hand, and her fantasies about how his blunt fingertips could make her feel fell away as his words sank in.
“What makes you think I’m not? If I’m such a princess, what makes you think I have moral qualms about anything?”
“The way Lola talks about you.” His rumbly voice made her skin tingle, in the best way. He was electrifying in all the respects that Geoff had never been, and it made her angry. She wasn’t sure why. Wouldn’t the breakup have been even worse had she actually been in love with her fiancé? “She talks about you as if you’re a wounded bird or something.”
She was a wounded animal, but not a bird. Jonah didn’t know her well enough to know that she was really a wounded honey badger. And, right now, the feral part of her that ached with not being wanted was fighting its way out of her chest. That bit of wildness that she hadn’t completely killed off for Geoff’s benefit wondered what he would do if she vaulted up to the very tips of her toes and kissed him. She wanted to feel his huge palms envelop her hips and ass and crush her against him. At the same time, she wanted to scratch her nails against the skin on his back, raising welts and possibly drawing blood.
All of these emotions distracted her from the feelings of shame and anxiety scraping through her guts. Hating Jonah and wanting to fuck him at the same time gave all her angry energy a place to go.
As though he sensed her drawing closer to him, snapping and pressing her lips and body against him, he pulled away. She must repel him on some level.
“Do you need help getting back to the house?”
Carla wanted to say no, but she couldn’t. She would just have another freak out if she tried to make it to the house all alone. She hated feeling this vulnerable. Would she always feel like this? Would she need someone to swoop in and save her for the rest of her life?
She chewed on her answer for long seconds before saying, “Yes.”
“At your service.”
“No, you’re not.” She coughed up a laugh despite her bone-deep embarrassment. “You’re just afraid that I’ll tell Lola you abandoned me, and she’ll kick you out.”
He opened his palms to her and delivered another killer smile. “You’ve got me there, princess.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“If the shoe fits.” He looked down her body to her feet, and back up. Slowly. As if she wasn’t repulsive to him at all. She’d recognize the look on his face anywhere, it was hunger. Lust.
Knowing he wanted her body made her own desire for him even hotter. It made her wonder why he didn’t want to give in, what was holding him back. Her curiosity reminded her of hiding underneath the dining room table during her mother’s lunches. She used to bring down a notepad and write down all the major items of gossip in bullet points. Then, she would brief her father on who was cheating on whom with who so that he wouldn’t stick his foot in a pile of doo-doo at the next cocktail party her mom threw.
Her mother had always thought she just wanted to hang out with the big girls. But, even then, she’d wanted to prove that she had value to the family. She hadn’t been as good at school as Alana or as good at sports as Javi. But she’d always had the whole mercenary game down pat.
Jonah might only see a flighty, wounded bird who ought to be put out of her misery, but she was not to be underestimated.
That was it! He didn’t want her because he only saw the surface. The urge to put him in his place rolled through her body as sure as her unsatisfied sexual longing coursed through her veins. He didn’t want her because he didn’t really see her. And she wanted to make him see her almost as much as she wanted to break down his resistance to her.
“Can you make it back in those?” He pointed at her shoes.
She had to fight a knowing smile because she couldn’t be the damsel in distress if he knew that she was playing him so he’d have to carry her back.
So, she shifted from foot to foot, feigning more serious foot pain. “Probably not. I thought there was a coffee place about a block from Lola’s. I got lost.” A muscle ticked in Jonah’s cheek while he hesitated. She poured more gasoline on the fire. “I know you’re probably busy taking pictures.”
She trailed a finger along his forearm, toward the camera bag clenched in his fist. He continued to hesitate, and it just made this little game all the more fun. He’d pretend to be so put out by her because he had to deviate from his busy schedule. She would pour her gratitude on ever thicker until it made him angry. And then he would get so pissed that he would kiss her.
She wondered if she could make him so mad that he went downtown, just pushed her panties to the side and put his mouth on her. Hashtag: life goals.
With a muttered “Fuck,” he hiked his camera bag over his shoulder and scooped her up.
The feel of his hands against her, and his warm chest against the side of her breast were even more affecting than she’d thought. She’d wanted him before. And now, she was on fire for him.
She had a feeling she was playing a game that she could only lose.
* * * *
Jonah had always been a magnet for girls who needed a lot of—attention, love, money, whatever. He liked the feeling of being needed, but the ones who needed him always turned out to be the problems.
Carla had “problem” written all over her delicious little body. But that didn’t matter to his dick. His dick’s only thoughts on Carla were about how warm and tight she’d be inside and how much his dick liked her. His dick was an asshole.
She weighed about nothing and twenty pounds, but that didn’t keep him from resenting the fact that he was carrying a girl through the streets of Havana, Officer and a Gentleman-style. Especially with the way her tits bounced with each step—did she ever wear a bra?
He’d been photographing interesting architectural features of buildings in Lola’s neighborhood when he saw her nearly collapsed in the alley. As he’d gotten closer, he’d recognized the signs of a panic attack. He’d had them before, but that had been in Syria. He couldn’t fucking stand seeing all those children suffering. And, before that, he used to hyperventilate and throw up before every game in college.
He’d taken his first vacation to Cuba after his last time in Syria. Part of the reason he’d started working on the book was to avoid heading back to the Middle East. Havana wasn’t sunshine and roses; extreme poverty was everywhere, and people lacked basic civil rights, but there was hope that not everything was broken forever.
Given his history in war zones, he’d known not to touch her or make any sudden movements. He’d expected her to take his help gratefully. She’d surprised him again by joking about him throwing her in the ocean. And her mention of the ocean had him thinking about her in a string bikini.
Wondering if she had freckles everywhere while cradling her to his chest had him nearly stumbling. He couldn’t wait to get her back to Lola’s and be rid of her for the day.
“We need to stop for coffee.”
“What? You want to grab a cup of Joe after that meltdown?” He shook his head. “The last thing you need is coffee, princess.”
“Some guys were following me. I was in that alley because I lost them.”
Jonah fought the urge to put her down and go find the motherfuckers. He was serious about not hurting women. After the way he’d hurt his college girlfriend—emotionally—he’d vowed never to hurt a woman again. Not if she didn’t ask him to.
Instead, he said, “You need me to go back and rearrange some faces more than you need coffee, princess.”
“I told you to stop calling me that.” She pinched his chest, and it made him laugh. Her tiny little fingers could probably dig in and rip off a nipple if he wasn’t careful, but she hadn’t hurt him, just opened up a new channel of sensation right to his dick. “I need coffee so I don’t get a migraine.”
“Your caffeine addiction is so serious that you’ll risk being chased down by dudes and having a panic attack in an unfamiliar city just to avoid a headache.”
“Was that what that was? I thought I was having a heart attack for a few minutes.”
He had so many questions, but he wasn’t great with the talking. He was much better with pictures. Why did she have her first panic attack then? Was it just those guys? Or was she having a nervous breakdown about her breakup? Why was she a wounded bird? And why did she have the same effect as a bottle of Viagra? He didn’t ask any of those questions. He simply said, “Whatever, princess. I’m not stopping for coffee.”
“But I need my fix. Haven’t you spent enough time in Cuba to realize that cafecito is life?” He winced at her whiny exclamation. She was a no-joke, seriously spoiled brat, and it grated on his nerves even more now that he’d decided to take on a knight-in-shining-armor gig on her behalf. “I’ll get a migraine.”
She bucked against him, and he almost dropped her.
“Suck it up, buttercup.”
“I like that even less than the other nickname.”
“How about I just call you ‘Princess Buttercup,’ so you can really hate me.” She giggled, and it was cloyingly sweet, the kind of sweet that hit all the pleasure receptors in his brain and would, for sure, give him a sugar coma later.
“As you wish.” She stopped wiggling—finally—and rested her head on his shoulder. “Just as long as I can call you ‘Westley.’”
The fuck she would. He wasn’t some dopey Prince Charming, ready and willing to ride in and save anyone. Hell, he could barely save himself half the time. He might go into war zones and conflict areas on a routine basis, but he was just as vulnerable and liable to get his ass blown up as the next guy. He’d been luckier in his work than he ever had been in his personal life. That’s why it was best to stick to women like Shannon. Self-sufficient. Competent. Women who didn’t wear heels.
“Who’s the bad guy in that movie?” She’d relaxed once they’d started talking about The Princess Bride. His mom loved that movie, and he’d seen it a million times, but he wanted to keep her talking about something other than stopping for coffee. And he wanted her to think about something other than the fact that they were making a bit of a spectacle on the street.
Several old ladies had clapped their hands together and cocked their heads in the universal symbol of “Awww, what a cute couple.”
“I don’t remember. No one ever remembers the bad guy.”
In his experience, nothing could be further from the truth. People still remembered the one bad thing he’d done. The only reason Carla didn’t know—the only reason she was treating him like he really could be her hero right now—was that she didn’t have the luxury of a Google search at her fingertips.
He should just tell her so that she’d stay clear of him. She wouldn’t be looking at him right now like she wanted to kiss him. She’d probably slap him across the face or give him the cold shoulder. Even after knowing her for less than twenty-four hours, he knew that the silent treatment from Carla Hernandez would cut him.
So, he’d keep her talking about normal-people things like movies. That way, when she went back to Miami, she’d search him on the Internet one day and she could hate him. He’d be rid of her forever. He wasn’t sure why he hated that thought.
“People remember the winners,” she said. “And sometimes the losers if the losers lose in a truly spectacular fashion.”
“You’re not a loser, princess.” He didn’t know why he said that, but she was vulnerable right now because of the loser fiancé. He also wasn’t sure when he’d started thinking of the fiancé as a loser, but he had to be if someone as sweet and soft as Carla was this broken up about him. If he had her in his bed and gave it up, he was a stupid loser. She must have really loved him, which proved that she was sweet and soft but not for him.
“Well, I lost my parents’ deposits on the wedding.”
“Better than getting married and divorced.”
“How do you know? Have you ever been married?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer the question. If he was smart, he’d say yes. But then he’d have to explain a whole bunch of shit he didn’t want to explain. Like how he had never actually gotten married. He’d offered to marry a girl who didn’t want him, who hadn’t wanted to live. So, he just grunted. And he couldn’t help it if she interpreted his grunt as an answer.
“So, then you don’t know.” She looked away from him, which almost tipped them both over from the shift in balance. Her clasp around his neck tightened. “It could have worked out if he had just wanted to try.”
He adjusted her weight in his arms. “Sometimes people are shit at trying.”
Jonah didn’t know why he was trying to comfort her. He didn’t care about her feelings. Caring about feelings got him in trouble once, and he didn’t want trouble.
When they got back to the house, Carla stayed nestled against him, and he didn’t feel the need to put her down right away. She felt nice there, and he knew she’d do something annoying in a few minutes to remind him why he stayed away from high-maintenance women.
She wiggled when his pause became awkward, and it didn’t make him want to let her go. It made him hard. He needed to go inside and take a cold shower so he and his dick could be alone.
He very carefully placed her on her feet inside the door. Fairy light, she walked up the stairs in front of him, tightening his jeans even more. The muscles of her smooth calves flexed and pulsed with each step. Her proportionally generous hips swayed back and forth, hypnotizing him.
She shocked him when she looked over her shoulder and said, “Seen enough?”
This time, he answered truthfully. “Not really. You’re still wearing clothes.”
She laughed until she made it to the top of the stairs. “You were there when I lost my shit back there, weren’t you?”
He nodded. “I was.” Carla didn’t understand that her panic attack in the alley didn’t make her less attractive to him. If anything, it made her harder to resist. Even when he’d suspected that she was a mercenary brat, he’d still wanted to fuck her. But now that she’d shown some vulnerability, she was under his skin.
“I’m surprised you’re not packing your shit and leaving.”
The frank cuss word out of her mouth shocked him. Every second he spent with her, he felt like another layer of the façade she wore slipped away. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“You’re about the only one.” She let out a short laugh that sounded like a honk. “Everyone in my family thinks that I’ve lost it.”
“Because you’re upset over a breakup?” That made no sense. Heartbreak was one of those things that everyone, across cultures, time, and all that shit, experienced. Her family should be understanding.
“I’m not just upset over a breakup. I’m upset over my whole life. Nothing seems right anymore. Nothing fits.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” She threw up her hands. “I think I’m broken.”
He walked up the stairs until he was taller than her again. She didn’t step back; she looked up at him with wide eyes, filled with unshed tears. “You came here.”
“Because my family didn’t know what to do with me. Because I needed a place to hide.”
Something in him didn’t want to let her hide. He wanted to bring her out into the light again. Something about the way she was afraid of the world, someone making her afraid of the world was...tragic. He might not want anything to do with a woman who would cause him nothing but grief, but he couldn’t deny his urge to prevent the sad woman standing in front of him from becoming a ghost.
He lifted his hand slowly, so she could move away from him if she wanted to. When she didn’t, he trailed his index finger along her cheek, connecting her freckles. “You’re still here. You’re young.” He had to have at least a decade on her. She was way too young for him if he was being honest. “Don’t let some shit-for-brains asshole ruin your life.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough to know that any guy who thinks you’re too much for him doesn’t deserve you.”
“Now you’re just full of shit.” She shook her head, one of her red strands falling into her face. He brushed it out of the way, noting that the tears in her eyes had been replaced by irritation.
“I don’t lie.” It was one of the few hard-and-fast policies he applied to himself. He might omit the truth if the truth could get someone killed, but he never lied. Not after he saw what lies could do.
He pressed his thumb into the softness of her cheek, and her mouth popped open. He wanted to suck on her pink bottom lip, but he wasn’t sure how she’d react. Her breath was fast and her face was pink, but she’d had a big day. He couldn’t be certain that it was what she wanted.
He couldn’t give her what she needed anyway.
“Go get some rest.” He dropped his hand and took a step down the flight of stairs.
“I still haven’t had coffee.”
He turned from her and headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll make some. I know where Lola has a secret stash.” Coffee he could do. Emotional triage, he couldn’t.