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Her tender touch knocked all the air from my lungs. I cupped her cheek and stared down at her with open awe, drinking her in. This was exactly why I’d wanted her here with me: this utterly foreign sense that she saw a good man when she looked at me. The pulse in my chest intensified to an aching beat.
When I bent to capture her lips in mine, she went up on her toes to meet me, just as hungry for our kiss as I was. My lost little lamb was successfully trapped in my lair, and I would never let her go.
Chapter 17
Marisol
I’d only been living in Raúl’s house for a week, but I was thoroughly addicted to our easy routine and quiet companionship. He’d left me a handful of times to deal with business, and I chose not to wonder what he was doing for the cartel. Being with him felt too good to be real, and I didn’t want to ruin it.
Raúl was a man of few words, but that made him an incredibly attentive listener. I could still hardly believe that he’d surprised me with the gorgeous flowers that were now planted in the garden. We spent our days working outside together for hours, drinking in the warm sunlight and the delicate, sweet scent of my blooming roses. The grit of damp earth on my hands fulfilled something deep in my soul, and I relished our time spent in companionable silence.
Being with him was better than any fantasy I’d ever dared to dream up. So many times, he’d shown me that there was goodness inside him; not with falsely alluring words, but with actions.
Raúl would never turn on me. He’d never hurt me. He’s not Gehovany.
I yearned to believe it, but I couldn’t simply forget that Raúl was a drug lord. And as our sensual games grew increasingly perverse, I found myself constantly fighting my dark, wild nature. I wanted to give in so badly. I wanted to give in to him.
So far, I’d managed to resist the dangerous compulsion to submit to our fiery chemistry. Barely. I hadn’t fully opened myself to him yet, and he hadn’t forced himself on me.
He won’t abuse me. I’m safe with him. The tempting reassurance played through my mind for the hundredth time. Why shouldn’t I stay? Why shouldn’t I just give us what we both want?
My mother’s flat, lifeless eyes flashed through my thoughts, and my stomach lurched when I remembered the flowering red stain on her cheery yellow dress.
No. I couldn’t trust myself. I couldn’t trust my judgment.
Raúl had said it would take a while for me to recover from my trauma and get my head clear again. I believed he was right. It was too soon to make a decision that would be so permanent. Because once I chose to stay—once I fully surrendered to Raúl—I knew deep in my soul that he would never let me go.
“Something worrying you?” His deep, rumbling voice caressed my skin, layering over the warmth of the afternoon sun.
I shook my head and offered him a small smile. “Just a bad memory. I’m okay.” It was part of the truth, at least.
He straightened from his crouch beside his beloved masochist chilies, standing to his full, imposing height. A contented smile curved my lips. I loved being cloaked in his protective shadow.
He held out his hand to me. I immediately grasped it, so he could pull me to my feet.
“I have something to show you,” he announced.
I beamed and followed where he led. I should feel a pang of guilt for accepting so many lavish gifts from my criminal captor, but my giddy excitement was untainted by dark emotion. My stomach fizzed with anticipation, and I practically bounced along beside him.
The grin he turned on me was sharper than simple fondness; he found triumphant, savage pleasure in my joy, as though each burst of excitement was a ruthless victory for him.
I should’ve been alarmed at his open possessiveness, but it was becoming harder to find any thrill of fear over it. After suffering so much agony at the hands of cruel men, being showered with intensely personal, thoughtful gifts was like a dream.
Raúl provided for me, going far above and beyond simple necessities.
The rope around my heart tugged, tethering me to him more tightly.
I noted the direction of our path—it would lead us directly to Raúl’s mysterious workshop. Sometimes, he disappeared in there for hours at a time, and he refused to tell me what he was crafting. Although I burned with curiosity, I didn’t press him to tell me if he didn’t want to. He always emerged in a deep state of relaxation, his eyes heavy-lidded from expending some of the savage energy that built inside him in between bouts of physical exertion.
