pecks. She whines. “Want more.”
“That word coming from your lips should be illegal.”
“What word?” Her lips are swollen and eyes heavy-lidded. “Maybe I’ll say it again if you tell me.”
“Behave, little flower.”
“But—” I place a finger over her lips and shake my head. My men have pulled slightly off to the side and step out in what is normal protocol. Solimar notices this and pouts, not liking when I release her and much less when I nod for her to sit back. However, she does what I ask and looks toward my men carrying out orders they know by memory.
And while they pause traffic, rifles pointing at cars in every direction but mine at the four-way stop, I take that moment to enjoy her. She fidgets under my scrutiny but doesn’t ask questions, something that I know her mierda father instilled in her from an early age.
You don’t ask. You don’t see. You don’t repeat.
The road is cleared for my caravan to move through a minute later, but I don’t change gears. I’m too busy taking in her reaction. Admiring the swell of her breasts as her breathing hitches once more.
Not in fear. No.
The two little perfect tips poking through the soft satin fabric are enough of a tell. Even if she doesn’t acknowledge it yet, my life excites her. The fact I’m the complete opposite of her forced fiancé makes her fidget in her seat.
I’ve noticed how her thighs clench.
How her lips part, tongue peeking out while I throb behind the zipper of my slacks.
I’m not hiding who I am. I’m not pretending to be anything but the man people fear.
Car doors close and those with me wait for my signal to drive.
“Do you trust me to take care of you, Preciosa? To not let anyone hurt you?”
“I do.”
“And will you let me handle everything from here on out?”
“I do, but I have some questions that need answers.”
“Good girl. Always ask questions,” I say and take her hand in mine, laying them atop my lap. “Now, let’s head home. We’ll finish this conversation in bed.”
“In bed?” Head cocked to the side, she raises a brow. “Won’t that be a distraction?”
“That’s why it’ll be after. Much fucking after.”
For the rest of the ride, she remains quiet, dozing off after we hit the open road. She never woke up when I stopped at a gas station midway to our destination to refuel and remove my jacket, cummerbund, and bowtie, leaving just the white long-sleeve beneath.
Not when I took a few sharp curves up a mountain’s winding road. Not when I put my window down and lit a cigarette, pondering my next few moves.
Her father will be coming for me after the explosion that demolished the federal building. He’s furious. Embarrassed. Looking for anyone in my employ to hold responsible.
It’s also why I need to get Solimar out from under his clutches. Desperate men make careless decisions.
The roads are empty this time of night and in the distance, I hear the mooing of a few cows as I cross a stretch of land known to have roaming cattle. Farmers around here let their animals graze openly and keep them marked with distinct patterns shaved into their coats just to differentiate.
My life has always been out in the countryside. Near the mountains and fields where coffee grows and life is simpler. Quieter.
It’s how my father lived.
His father before him.
And had Jose Quintero not accused him of using the Finca for a non-existent drug operation, it’s where we’d all be. On that same land. Running the same business started as all those generations before.
“…divorcing Dad?” Solimar murmurs beside me and I look over, not liking the way her eyebrows pucker in her sleep nor the frown on her face. “Don’t leave.”
“Who’s leaving, Preciosa?” I mutter, but somehow, she hears and turns her head in my direction. Her eyes are closed and breathing still even, but the sad look remains. Her words also don’t make sense. She can’t be talking about—
“Mom is. Told me today.”
She talks in her sleep. Adorable. “Does your father know?”
“No.” Frown deepens. “He’s going to be pissed.”
“I’ll protect you.” We’re nearing my home, and I make a left onto a secret road that runs right to my front door. Nothing but green surrounds us, trees and lush fields, with the occasional guard at his post. No one comes in or leaves without my permission after entering.
“But what about them?”
“Them who?” I have an idea of who she’s speaking about, but before