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My mind churned, my thoughts sliding through my brain like slow, thick molasses. I didn’t remember partying last night. The last thing I remembered was watching YouTube clips from The Voice on the big screen TV in my apartment.
Dark eyes flashed through my memories, and I felt the phantom touch of big, masculine hands on my body.
I threw the covers off with a gasp, jolting upright as instinctive fear shredded my sleepy confusion. The world spun around me, and I clutched my head to stave off a wave of dizziness.
“Stay calm. You’re okay.”
I yelped, shocked at the male voice in such close proximity. I jerked my head around, trying to search for the threat. Everything blurred, and I lost all sense of balance. I felt myself falling back, but a corded arm braced around my shoulders to support me.
“You’re safe, Sofia.” I recognized the deep, rumbling voice: Mateo Ignazio.
A little thrill buzzed through my system, despite my confusion. I always responded this way when Mateo was near.
“Mateo?” I rasped, my tongue feeling too thick in my mouth. I blinked, trying to get the world to settle into place around me. “I don’t…feel good.”
I felt hungover and beyond disoriented. I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed through my nose to center myself as I took note of my surroundings as best I could. I was definitely in bed. But the sheets felt silkier than those on my own bed, and they didn’t caress my body. I was fully clothed, but I usually slept naked.
I took another breath. Mateo was in bed with me, and he was close enough for me to smell his unique, masculine scent. He’d never been this close before. I inhaled deeply, savoring him.
The fleeting pleasure I found at his nearness dissipated into fear. He had been this close before. The last time his scent had permeated my senses, he’d been holding his hand over my mouth and sliding a needle into my neck.
Disjointed images flooded my mind: Mateo pinning me against the wall of my apartment; Mateo’s hands tugging sharply at my hair; Mateo’s fingers wrapped around my throat. I hadn’t been able to move, even though I’d struggled to get away from him.
Adrián had been there, too. And my father…
“Daddy,” I gasped, still half-blind.
Mateo’s arm firmed around me, his powerful muscles flexing. “Adrián is dealing with your father,” he said roughly.
“What do you mean?” I asked, desperate. My hand found the front of Mateo’s shirt, fisting in the soft cotton material. I had a terrible feeling I knew what he meant. On some level, I’d always known Adrián Rodríguez was a dangerous man. He was my dad’s sort-of boss. More of a business associate, really. Adrián came to meet with Daddy at our house sometimes, and I’d briefly interacted with him at social events hosted by my father.
Adrián was gorgeous in a scary kind of way. Definitely male model material, but his pale green eyes were cold as ice. I would have avoided him altogether if it hadn’t been for the fact that Mateo was always close by his side. I’d been drawn to Mateo ever since I’d met him when I was fifteen years old. He had a dangerous aura about him, as well. But in that delicious, tattooed bad-boy kind of way that made my belly flutter.
“Don’t let Adrián hurt my dad,” I beseeched, my eyes finally focusing on Mateo’s rugged features. His lips thinned, obscured by his thick black beard. His displeasure was clear. “You won’t, will you?” I continued. “You wouldn’t let Adrián hurt Daddy.”
“Your father should be fine,” Mateo replied tightly. “As long as he cooperates.”
My head pounded as I struggled to sift through hazy memories. I remembered a conversation between Adrián and my father.
You’re loyal to me from now on, or Sofia will suffer. Adrián’s cold threat surfaced in my mind. I jerked against Mateo’s hold. He pulled me closer to his stone chest, his arm an iron band around my shoulders.
“What are you going to do to me?” I asked on a horrified whisper. My heart twisted in my chest. I never would have imagined that the man I’d secretly pined for was capable of hurting me. But Adrián had definitely told my father that Mateo would hurt me if he didn’t cooperate.
Mateo’s restraining hold on my body remained firm, but his free hand cupped my cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you, florecita,” he promised, his tone smoothing to a gentler cadence. “Don’t be afraid.”
I pressed my palm against my pounding forehead, trying to alleviate my headache. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Here. You need to drink some water.” His hand left my cheek, and suddenly, smooth glass touched my lips. I parted them automatically, grateful for the cooling liquid on my parched throat. After a few gulps, I tried to turn my face away.
