Page 17 of Juan

Her mind flashed to the bag lying on her bed. Her plans for the night derailed when she walked in the door a few hours earlier. But maybe they didn’t need to go entirely off track. She glanced at Spencer. A mistake. A bloom of heat started on her chest and rose up her neck.

She cleared her throat and stepped out of his embrace. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Chapter nine

Amber’s blush haunted Juan all through dinner. And she’d stayed in the kitchen throughout the meal, so he hadn’t had a chance to speak with her. For now, maybe that was a good thing, though. Daphne once said that Amber needed her routine, especially in uncertain times. He didn’t love it, but if leaving her to her usual schedule helped, he’d willingly step aside and not intrude.

But when nine thirty rolled around and he hadn’t seen her, he couldn’t stop himself from sending a text.

Juan: Just checking in. How are you?

They were less than a four-minute walk across the clubhouse from each other, but he wouldn’t presume she wanted to see him and show up uninvited at her door.

Bubbles popped up on his screen, and the tension in his shoulders eased.

Amber: Having a glass of whiskey and staring at the moon through my window. Want to join me?

Juan: Be there in two

He was out the door before hitting Send. Taking the back hallway so as not to go downstairs through the lodge room where some of his brothers lingered, he tapped lightly on her door right on time. Her voice filtered through the thick wood, telling him to come in.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, taking her in as he shut it behind him. She sat curled up on an upholstered chair, her feet tucked underneath her, wrapped in a pale pink cashmere robe. She’d pulled her hair back, and her face looked pale, though resolute, and a tumbler of whiskey dangled between her fingers.

His breath caught as she held his gaze. He didn’t bother trying to figure out exactly when she’d become his. He only knew that she was. Or more accurately, he was hers.

“I was going to text you in a few minutes,” she said, gesturing to the second glass sitting on the side table between her chair and its twin. “I didn’t put any ice in it since I didn’t know if you’d want to join me, but there’s some water in the bottle if you want to tip a few drops in.” She nodded to her water bottle sitting on the bedside table behind him.

His gaze lingered on the glass, then drifted to her. Lines bracketed both her lips and her eyes, and though she appeared reclined, tension radiated from her body. He exhaled and opened his arms. “Come here.”

Her jaw ticked, and a sheen filled her eyes. A beat later, she set her drink down, unfurled her legs, rose, and stepped into his embrace. Curling his arms around her, he tucked her head against his shoulder, dropping a kiss on her crown. Her hands splayed across his back, trying to touch as much of him as possible, as if grounding herself in him.

He didn’t watch the clock or count the seconds. Instead, he absorbed the movement of her chest as she breathed, inhaled her scent—something powdery yet sensual—and held on. For as long as she needed, he’d hold her.

“I don’t know what to think,” she said, her breath a warm huff against his T-shirt. He ran his fingers through her hair. “If it was Anthony, I’d at least know what to worry about. But this? I have no idea what it’s about. Maybe it’s something good, maybe it’s nothing to worry about. But, well…”

“Uncertainty is hard.”

She nodded against his chest. “And I had plans for us tonight,” she said.

That shifted his attention. The idea of her making plans for them piqued his curiosity. And his libido. For the past few nights, he’d been more than happy to let her take control and explore him in whatever ways she felt comfortable.

But plans? That sounded as if she wanted to move on to something else. His mind conjured about a hundred possibilities, but he didn’t let any take root because she’d used the word “had.” She didn’t have plans for them; she’d had them. Before the shitstorm of the afternoon.

“We have more nights,” he said. He hoped. Life had taught him nothing if not that time was no guarantee. But even if they knew tomorrow wouldn’t come, facing the physical demons left by her ex wasn’t how he’d want her to spend those hours.

“Why don’t we sit, watch the moon, drink our whiskey, then go to bed?” he suggested.

She pulled back and looked at him. He cupped her face, sliding his fingers into her hair, and smiled. “Someone once told me I’m a pretty good cuddler.”

A smile touched her eyes. “That someone was right.” That “someone” was her.

He brushed a light kiss across her lips. “Yes, she was.”

***

The next morning, Juan sipped his coffee and studied the pictures spread across the short end of the long kitchen island. “This is Adrian Mills?” he asked, pointing to a woman with shoulder-length black hair. Finding the location of the phone by looking for a trailer or RV hadn’t been as hard as Leo had anticipated. A couple of internet searches and a flyover with a new drone HICC needed to test anyway had done the job. By eight in the morning, no less. Although Juan suspected the “internet searches” HICC ran weren’t exactly standard Google fare.

“It is,” Mantis confirmed. As they’d theorized the day before, the owner of the phone and the nurse inquiring about Amber were one and the same. Only Adrian wasn’t alone.