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I blush as his fingers slide out of me. The sudden emptiness rocks me, but the clarity that floods my brain in response is a good sign. On trembling legs, I lurch upright. The window is my nearest anchor, and I stagger to it, bracing my hands against the glass. Without facing him, it’s easier to maintain my ruse, though this time, the script isn’t just meaningless words. Deep down, it’s what I know to be the safest way out of this mess.
“I’ve bored you, Jaguar,” I confess in between pants. “We can end this now. You showed me where Franco is. I can take it from here, and I will forever be grateful to you—”
“Come here.”
I shudder at that authoritative tone, but I recognize there’s no power behind it. He’s testing me yet again, jerking me around like a puppet on a string.
And I obey. The gleam I find in his eyes tells me that he knows I had a choice, and I chose right. I’ve pleased him again—but he doesn’t seem too thrilled about it.
When I reach him, he snags both of my wrists, forcing my arms out while my body is examined at his leisure by those roving eyes.
“You don’t look like a pro,” he says, observing my quivering legs. Is it meant to be an insult? Perhaps. Nevertheless, he seems appreciative of what he sees. His tongue traces his lower lip, an eyebrow raised. “Real ass. Real tits. Average-sized waist.”
“I wouldn’t insult you by giving you something inauthentic,” I counter, suddenly self-conscious.
“The shit you say.” He smirks, but it’s one of the dangerous ones. My heart skips a beat. Then several more.
“That’s been taught,” he surmises with a knowing tilt of his head. “You’ve been trained well, chica, but I know a windup when I hear it.”
He isn’t exactly wrong, but the truth isn’t anywhere close to what he thinks. Some sick part of me savors that—loves having one small bit of knowledge he doesn’t. But a battle of wits with Julian Domingas is a perilous game.
“I’ll let your mind games slide if you tell me the truth. What is it you really want?”
He already knows the real answer—Franco safe, a life far from Braulio. He’s angling for something different, a more elusive want that amounts to fantasy more than anything else.
“I want to give myself to someone with no fear,” I tell him. “I want protection. I never want to know pain again.”
I feel like a child professing a desire to be a ballerina or an astronaut. Craving something far out of reach but near enough to touch.
He accepts that confession in silence, but I can’t tell from his expression what he thinks of it.
“You think you know anything of fear?” His tone does that thing to me. My heart pangs, and I feel lightheaded. Weightless. “A woman, tossed around from narco to narco. It seems you’ve been sheltered from reality, Tiena.”
“It seems,” I parrot as he releases my arms in favor of palming my waist. “But appearances can be deceiving, Jaguar.”
“That I know, chica.” He releases me and stands, heading for the door. “Are you coming?” he asks when I don’t follow.
Belatedly I remember our supposed date, but I feel that this entire buildup was yet another test. Mercifully I passed it, but at what cost? Something unspoken transpired between us, but I’m unsure exactly what it entailed. A promise, I think.
I claim to know fear. He aims to show me exactly how little I do.
And this is one bet I won’t win.
CHAPTERSEVEN
He came via a different car from the SUV. It’s an intimate sports car that he apparently drove himself, but I’m not fooled. A suspicious number of vehicles follow us out of the parking garage. Even so, I sense it’s rare for him to be without his entourage. I’m curious enough to ask him about it.
“We won’t be joined by your harem tonight?”
The back seat certainly isn’t big enough for them all.
“Jealousy isn’t an attractive trait, Tiena,” he warns. He eyes the road, his head partially tilted in my direction. A coldness comes over him when he’s deep in thought. It dampens his usual intensity, making him seem more distant—like a blazing inferno trapped in ice. “You know what is attractive? A woman who shuts her mouth and listens. I’m sure you listened to plenty of conversations Braulio might have had behind the scenes. Tell me about them.”
Ah. It’s a line of questioning I didn’t anticipate, but I should have. A woman privy to the secrets of one powerful kingpin should be expected to gladly share those secrets with another. In theory.
“Discretion is attractive,” I say demurely.
His head whips around to shoot me a probing glance.Wrong answer.
