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“Ms. Doe, right?” he asks. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you can trust me.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Was he listening to my conversation with the hotel clerk? Had I really been so careless as to let Esteban’s men get that close?
“Damn it,” I grumble under my breath before I yank the door open.
I lunge at the man with a vicious cry, digging my nails into him like a feral jungle cat. I kick and I punch, but he’s a solid wall—an immovable object to my unstoppable force. The man easily takes hold of both my wrists, pivoting his hips so I stumble over my own feet. He expertly maneuvers me like I’m nothing more than a sack of flour, pinning my body against the wall with his own up against mine.
“Relax,” he growls. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I’m not going back!” I scream in his face. “You can’t make me go back! I swear to God, I’ll kill myself before I’ll ever let that man—”
He cuts me off with a kiss.
It’s so startling and out of nowhere that I gasp. Lips crashing against lips, tongues sliding over tongues. I’m surprised how quickly it goes from being harsh and frantic to tender and slow. A soft moan pulls itself from my lungs as he deepens the kiss—my first ever. Everything about his touch is delicious and divine.
I like the roughness of his stubble, the commanding nature of his lips. He smells woody with a hint of citrus. The hard press of his body against mine awakens something inside me, a wet heat pooling between my legs as I relinquish control.
I know in an instant this isn’t one of Esteban’s men because no one woulddaretouch what he considers his.
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?”
