“You must have a concussion 'cause this is the most you’ve ever talked about yourself,ever.”
“It takes me a minute to warm up.”
“A minute?” Tate bellows a laugh. “Watching paint dry is faster.”
“I have a lot of things to protect. And as you can see, I’m doing a spectacular job.” My sarcasm is evident.
“Hey.” Tate sits up. “You are one of the most loyal, fearless people I have ever met.” He brushes a wet piece of hair away from my face. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
The gesture is so tender and intimate, it shifts the entire energy in the room. It’s no longer light and casual, but instead heavy and tense. A luring magnetism ensnaring us in a moment.
I clear my throat, shattering the connection. “Shouldn’t you be with Stefania?”
“No.” He leans back, putting a semi-comfortable distance between us. “She’s with Marco. Besides, we both agreed you shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m glad you two are making decisions on my behalf. You’re such the power couple.”
“Do I detect a hint of resentment,Tiburona?”
“No.”
“Indignation?
“No.” I flutter my eyelashes.
“Jealousy?”
“Definitely not,” I sneer.
“Crankiness, it is.” He puts his hands up.
“Yes, I’m cranky.” I put my half drank coffee on the table. “And I’m tired. And I can’t go to sleep.”
“So just lie down. And I’ll check on you every half hour. Rest. No sleeping.”
I take what he says into consideration. “Okay.” I lean forward without any hesitation, and he freezes. I take the liberty of resting my head on his lap. “If you insist on staying.” I make myself comfortable.
Tate is rigid, his hands hovering above my body like it’s a bomb about to go off.
I don’t know what he’s so afraid of. He’s wanted me half naked and on top of him since the moment we met.
9
Tate
Stefania pacesthe club floor waiting for Dove to arrive.
She’s been on edge since the moment the letter arrived this afternoon.
Dove has been out of pocket. Ever since her little run in with Raffi’s guys, she’s been distant. From Stefania, from me, even from the club.
She keeps insisting she’s fine. She just needs a little space to clear her head, but I know it’s more than that. She’s pissed off. She hates being in Raffi’s pocket because of Stefania and Marco’s relationship. She hates that they lost a huge buyer who was going to elevate the cartel business, and dare I say, I even think mine and Stefania’s relationship is getting under her skin. I see the way she looks at us when we’re together. Even if we’re just standing around having a casual conversation. Something in her predatory eyes dances with envy, and something in the pit of my stomach aches with attraction. An inflamed yearning. A salacity so severe it’s eating me alive from the inside out.
My setup is ideal from a professional standpoint. I have gained the head of the cartel’s trust. I sleep in her bed. She confides in me. It’s an undercover operative’s perfect scenario. My higher ranks are elated. But . . .the man.The red-blooded American man wants the shark. He wants to swim in her waters. He wants to live out every fantasy regardless of the consequences. Because even though her bite is deadly, she has gotten undermyskin.
Emotions put everything at risk. Dove is right about one thing — distance keeps you safe. It allows you to be objective. To make sound decisions. Helps you stay alive. We are each in our own unique situation. Each in our own fragile bubble that can pop at any given moment unless we’re careful where it floats. I know this. My cognitive mind reminds me every day. But my subconscious is a snarling beast who wants to possess the princess.
P.S. Don't tell her I called her a princess; she'd probably maim me.
