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So who the hellishe?
He pulls aways slowly, his face hovering a mere inch away from mine. I can feel my own breath ricochet off his cheeks as he stares deeply into my eyes. GoodLord, he’s handsome. Unfortunately, in my experience, I’ve learned the handsome ones’ intentions require the most questioning.
“Who are you?” I whisper, my voice a raspy, foreign sound in my own ears.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“Answer me or I’ll scream.”
The corner of his lip twitches. “I wouldn’t want that.”
“Something amusing?” I reply pointedly.
He shakes his head. “Zane Phillips, at your service. And who might you be?”
I lick my lips, missing the taste of his mouth more than I probably should. “Claire,” I answer.
“Try again,” he says.
My heart skips a beat. “Marianne.”
Zane clicks his tongue. “The truth this time.”
I can’t stop staring at him, equal parts amazed and confused and alarmed at the way he makes me feel. “Willow,” I finally answer, hating how easily I let my walls crumble for him.
“Willow,” he echoes. My name rolls off his tongue like a prayer, the sound of it sending a light shiver up my spine. “Willow, why were those men after you?”
Ialmosttell him. I don’t know what it is about Zane, but I suddenly want to tell him every single secret I’ve been holding onto. My father and his debts. The cartel boss I was promised to. The life I’m trying to run away from—though I’m starting to worry it’s inescapable.
“What did you do to them?” I ask him. “Those men.”
“Took care of them.”
“What’s that even supposed to mean?”
“Knocked them out. Stuffed them down the trash shoot.”
“Are you joking?”
He doesn’t respond.
Shit. I don’t think he’s joking.
Just like that, whatever magical spell he’s used to turn my mind all hazy dissipates. I don’t know who the hell he is or what his intentions are. I don’t care if he helped me or not. For all I know, he could be lying to me to lull me into a false sense of security. What better way to haul me back to Esteban when I’ve made the mistake of allowing myself to trust?
I distract Zane with another kiss. It works like a charm, his eyes fluttering closed.
Then I pull my gun on him, pressing the tip of the barrel to his abdomen. I’ve had it tucked away in my jacket pocket this whole time, having pulled it out of my bag just before I got off the Greyhound. I’m not actually going to shoot him; I just need him tothinkI will if he continues to push his luck.
“Take a step back,” I order.
He does so, a strangely endearing glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Now turn around and get on your knees,” I say sternly.
“That’s supposed to be my line.”
I kick him in the back of the calf. “Shut up,” I grumble, absolutely hating the way my voice quivers and my face suddenly heats by a thousand degrees. I find my resolve and take a deep breath. “If you move a muscle, I’ll shoot you right here, right now.”
