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What just happened?
Decker ignored my question, and now Ana and the other two older women are clearing the table and moving around the house. Very obviously pissed with the situation.
Javier has left and I am still trying to figure out why.
Decker starts to speak fluent Spanish, and I’m not going to lie. Despite the confusion in the air, it’s incredibly sexy.
Tonight, even more than usual, he has a powerful confidence about him that I’m having trouble ignoring. Like a beautiful painting you want to keep looking at. Or a sunset you know will disappear soon, but you’re trying to take in all of its beauty before it does.
Despite the dangerous energy that surrounds him, Decker is beautiful. Like a taboo and forbidden delicacy.
At least to me, he is.
His touch feels so natural. I find myself leaning into him whenever his hands are on me. Heck, sometimes I want to purr. He’s so damn intoxicating.
But I’ve created a barrier between us sexually, and I have no choice but to keep it up. Which means I can look but not touch.
And it’s the same for him.
Soon we will be home.
Once Javier returns from wherever he has gone, we will be on our way.
Meeting Javier, Ana, and her family was surprisingly enjoyable after the terrifying-looking dog and shotgun disappeared. The meal was amazing, and they seemed genuinely interested in me.
Unlike Decker, who likes my ass, and that’s about it. Well, and all my fun bits. Then again, it’s not like we’re dating. I don’t know why it bothers me that he’s barely asked me anything about my life—
“You will sleep in here,” Ana says.
What?
Decker guides me down the hall following her and then we both stand in the doorway and stare at the single king-sized mattress lying on the floor.
I open my mouth to speak and can’t find the words. I turn my head to face Decker, who is rubbing the side of his face.
What is going on? We need to keep driving.
“What does—”
“The fan works,” Ana says, pointing to the large ceiling fan with the long cord. “The bathroom is down the hall. We wake at six a.m.”
“Thank you,” Decker says.
“Gracias,” I smile at her, and she returns it, though the warmth is gone from earlier.
Then she’s gone.
I spin and face the big, burly Marine and drop my hands on my hips.
“I’ll get our bags and then explain,” Decker says and I’m left standing to peer around at the remnants of a teenage daughter who once lived here.
Photos, a desk and chair, an old guitar leaning against the far corner. A sketch is pinned up above the desk, along with a poster of what I assume is a Mexican pop band.
I walk to the windows and pull the blinds closed, then turn on the fan. Dust billows from it as it whirs awake and while it does little to cool the room, the moving air creates relief.
Just when I’m wondering what I should do with myself, Decker steps back in. His enormous frame takes up half the room.
“This isn’t ideal, but it’s just for one night,” he says, dropping our bags on the floor and glancing around. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
