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“Lander’s Men.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“Some things never change,” I say, coming at him to poke him with the glass. Some of the tequila sloshes out and lands on him.
His hand closes gently around my wrist, steadying my arm. Everywhere throbs and burns from his touch. I want to sink into it. I want to throw off the years and go back to when it was me and Diego against the world. When he could undo me with a kiss.
“Be very fuckin’ careful, Nadia, or a man might think you’re aiming for him to strip off his shirt.”
“In your dreams.”
He comes in close and that leather and spiced honey of him that I never could get enough of when I would smell and lick his skin, wear his shirt or jacket, fold about my senses.
“Way too many to count.”
The glass slips, and he grabs it with his other hand.
He downs the contents and puts the glass down behind him. He lets go of my wrist to slide that hand down my spine to the top of my ass and ease me in close to him, and I can barely breathe. He takes my chin and urges it up, so our mouths are almost touching.
The heated breath that bathes and licks my lips is like the kiss of a ghost.
I know I should pull away. I know what he’s doing.
But I can’t.
The hitch in my chest catches at things long forgotten.
He’s using the power of the past, the unsaid, and the residue to try and make me bend to his will.
Once it worked. I was naive. An eighteen-year-old girl who thought the sun shined from him until he destroyed that completely. Once, it would have worked, I was easily swayed because of love.
But now I see it for what it is, a distraction. A very potent, bespoke form.
Distract the girl with touches, kisses, and sweet words, and she’s lost.
Even now, with no kisses or sweetness, the touch is potent enough all on its own.
Except . . . except now I see what I never could before.
Diego Fernandez is as affected by me, whether he wants that or not.
Crazy fucking chemistry. Attraction. While that’s all it is, it’s also a doozy. But, yeah, I can get to him too.
I’m not a sex pot. I’m not gifted in the art of seduction, but there’s something that clicks, and as I step into his hold, brush against him, I feel him.
The stirrings of a hard-on. And as the iron forms, I’m saturated with shimmering need. The blood pools between my legs and sets off a dull ache.
“Nadia.”
I ignore the warning as I slip in a little closer, this time pressing against him and rubbing on his erection.
Diego doesn’t push me, instead, he yanks me up against him and his mouth slides close to my skin as he moves it up along the line of my jaw to my ear. “This what you fuckin’ want? A bit of fun with the bad boy?”
“I had my fun, remember?” I curl my fingers at the nape of his neck, hair too short to grab there. “And you’re using the past to distract me.”
“Or maybe I want to just fuck you, for old-time’s sake.”
The mock in his tone rubs me the wrong way, and I should pull free, but I don’t. Instead, I spread my other palm flat on his chest, soaking in the illicit thrill of touching that hard, hot flesh once again.
