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Amanda sighs. “You win. I’ll leave. I’ll just go get my coffee.” She hugs Pri, “I love you, too, sweetie.” She eyes me over Pri’s shoulder and releases her daughter. “Nice to meet you, Rafael.”
I give her a nod and she walks away. Pri steps in front of me, close, but not close enough as far as I’m concerned. “I’m so sorry. Can we step outside, beyond her prying eyes and ears?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
She turns and starts walking toward the door with purpose, offering me another delicious view of her perfect ass in the process. My lips curve, and I follow her, a predator with his prey in his sights, and soon we’re outside, the day heating up because in Texas it’s always heating up—the undercurrent of heat between us, even hotter.
“Thank you,” she says, the minute we’re outside behind a wall offering us privacy from the indoor guests. She rotates to face me, her breasts thrust high, every one of her many lush curves tempting my mouth and hands, but my attraction to her does nothing to dismiss my distrust. “And I’m so sorry I did that to you,” she adds. “You don’t even know me, but I’m good to my word. What do I owe you?”
The list of requests I could make right now are long and detailed, the most PG: dinner. Every male part of me wants to ask her out, to get to know her on the most intimate of levels—a plan I could justify easily as a means to establishing her true intent, but I’d be full of shit. It’s the wrong move, the move Adrian Mack of the Devils would make. I am not that man. I will never be him again.
Already, she’s going to be pissed when she finds out who I am and that is coming sooner rather than later. Already, I’ve ensured she will hate me when the real me is identified. Asking her out, leading her on, would be a death wish for me, at least with her. And right now, for all I know, she’s aiding Waters, the King Devil himself, who does want me dead.
“You owe me nothing,” I say. “I was just teasing you on that. I don’t believe in debts.”
There’s a hint of what I believe is surprise in her eyes. “Most people take where they can take.”
“Agreed,” I say. “Why is she so worried?”
“I’m prosecuting a very bad man.”
“Why is he bad?” I ask.
“Let me count the ways.”
“You’re not afraid?”
She folds her arms in front of her, a protective stance. “Terrified.”
I arch a brow. “And you’re still moving forward?”
“Someone has to.” She drops her arms, “And I mean, they really have to.”
“Because he’s bad,” I say and it’s not a question. He is bad.
“Very bad. And I care. I want to make a difference. It’s not political or showboating for me. I need to do this and do it well.”
I believe her. She’s motivated. She cares. But I’m also attracted to her, really fucking attracted to her, and I’ve learned the hard way that when it comes to people when it gets personal, fact-checking is lifesaving.
Adam’s voice sounds in my ear, “I’m out. All clear. And so far, so is she.”
I don’t reply to him. Instead, I study Pri, searching my gut for a bad reaction that doesn’t follow. “I changed my mind,” I say. “You do owe me.”
Her lips part and her head tilts, anticipation in her expression. “All right. What do I owe you?”
“The next time I see you here, you let me buy you a cup of coffee.”
Surprise, and then pleasure, seeps into her eyes, curving her lips. “Deal.”
I know this is where she expects me to set that date, but I don’t do that. I can’t do that. Instead, I lean in closer, a little closer, not near as close as I’d like and I say, “You look sexy as hell without make-up.” I wink and turn away, leaving her standing there.Chapter FourPRISCILLA
When was the last time I looked into a man’s eyes and felt my stomach flutter?
The answer: too long to remember before today.
I leave the coffee shop, coffee in hand, and during the three-block walk to my house, I’m still reliving my encounter with Rafael, replaying every word spoken, every casual touch that didn’t feel casual at all. Of course, my mother showed up, and Rafael was too sharp not to notice the tension. I’m definitely not the girl who takes a man home to the family, especially since my ex, whose still the son my father never had, would likely be there.
Arriving at my house, I disarm the alarm, enter, and shut the door, listening for any sound that might not belong, and when my nerves are eating away at me, I reset the alarm and then yank open the drawer to the table by the door, and remove my handgun. This is insane. If I’m going to keep doing this job, I need to move to a high-security apartment. I try to remind myself that not every case involves the King Devil, as Waters calls himself, but that’s hard to digest. My life is the devil right now, and people keep dying. No. They keep getting killed. Witnesses are dying. I’m not a witness, but I do have a responsibility to ensure they’re protected and that the people the Devils hurt find some justice.
