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I tug at the cuffs of my jacket with a smile on my face. “Propose to my ex-girlfriend.”
Chapter 3
"Oh, no, no, no…" The screaming smoke detector snaps me back to the real world.
I jump up from my paper-covered dining room table running past the agitated device. The dark smoke rising from the oven is the issue.
"Great, Alex, you burnt the biscuits." I yank open the oven, fanning a towel to clear the space in front of my face. The biscuits are not golden brown but charcoal black. I grab an oven mitt, maybe I'll have time to start another batch. Pain shoots through my arm the moment I brush the side of the hot oven. "What is wrong with me?"
I run to the sink and run cold water over the throbbing welt on my arm. I examine my forearm, and it's red, but I'll live. I turn off the water examining the mess I've made.
I never burn food. Never. It’s one of the few hobbies I have time for with constant traveling and work. But I couldn’t sleep last night and decided to make homemade biscuits instead of the canned ones.
The chime of my phone signals a text message. It’s Mateo and simply states, On my way. See you in twenty.
“Crap.”
I press the timer button off on the stove and retrieve the baking sheet from the floor, tossing it into the sink. I do an awkward bob and weave from side-to-side gathering the black remnants of my buttermilk biscuits.
I have a choice to tidy up my place or put on something more presentable. My oversized Christmas t-shirt and elf striped leggings will have to work. I make quick work of cleaning up my kitchen. By the time I make it back to the table to organize my research, I have ten minutes.
I started researching Mateo, and the more I read, the more I realize I'm in over my head. He's not the same man I knew. I guess some of it must be the same. His habits seem unchanged. He was always a very disciplined person, I can't imagine that changing either, not according to all the facts and figures I found this morning. The man has accomplished the impossible in such a short time.
He arrived as a freshman with a full scholarship. He could read English but didn't speak it fluently, at least not well enough for him to feel comfortable speaking up in class. He endured teasing and professors who doubted him, but his perfect grade point average quieted the most vocal doubters.
Ding dong.
I freeze, looking down the long hall from my dining room table to the front door. My breath catches. What will I say? How will I greet him? I’m stunned the same way he silenced those who felt slighted by the recognition he received.
The film of our relationship flashes in my mind. At one time, Mateo Rodriquez ranked close to oxygen, food, and water. I take several steps, and his silhouette turns from the street to face me as if he can see me.
The naysayers never saw him behind closed doors. That was the man who stole my heart, and he never gave it back. He's the best because he's relentless. Obstacles never stood a chance, and now he’s at my home.
I helped him become comfortable with speaking English, and he taught me how to study and embrace the opportunities my family provided. He stressed the need for me to love them. The same people who never gave him a chance or a second thought.
I draw in a deep breath to calm my racing heart and unlock the bolt. My shaky hand grips the brass knob, and I open the door.
“…mi querida.” My darling.
Time stands still. This is the moment when you want your ex to look busted, to have suffered without you in their life. But not him. Fucking, sexiness wrapped in a dark suit. Smelling like do me, baby.
I start at the top of his jet-black hair stopping only to appreciate his thick lashes and killer bedroom eyes. His strong jaw and tanned skin are precisely the way I remembered. My gaze hovers over his mouth. The same mouth that did wicked things to my body. The slight quiver in his jaw tells me he’s struggling to keep his distance.
I rest a hand on my chest, stepping back to let him inside. He crosses the threshold, slamming the door behind him. Then I'm folded into his arms. The musk of his cologne fills my nose, the strength in his arms hold me close, the brush of his lips over my ear renders me mute as desire pulses through my body.
“Alexandria.”
I glance up, and the passion lingering in his brandy colored pools overwhelms me.
God, I can’t breathe.
His mouth covers mine. Not hot and demanding like the heat I see in his eyes, but it's tender and leisurely as if he's taking his sweet time reacquainting himself with my mouth. The crisp lapels of his suit are crushed in my hands. The kiss slips from tame to demanding to brazen like the man is driving a six-speed, and I'm down for the ride. A delicious shudder shoots through me, I shake it off and reluctantly step away.
Curiosity causes my eyes to sweep the front of his pants, and the man is hard and ready. There's no way we'll be able to work together. The man looks at me, and I'm willing to let him have his way.
"We can't do that again," I state for the record.
“I don’t believe you in your Santa, I’ve Been a Bad Girl shirt.” The sexy smile on his face makes my cheeks burn with heat. “Do I get a tour?”
