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They were around the same age, Toro and Israel, and they had more than just that in common. Danger was nothing to them, violence like second nature. Israel had his partner, Reggie, at his side, but she didn’t think Toro had anyone. Except for that crazy-ass uncle of his. No wonder Toro was unhinged if he hung around Daniel Nieto all day.
But she couldn’t throw stones living in a glass house she’d constructed herself.
She sat up in the middle of the bed, legs folded under her ass.
She could be Toro’s mother. Her lips twisted. How would his mother react if she knew where he was and with whom? Was it weird, Seraphina’s attraction to a man as young as Toro? Almost as young as her own son?
Toro was an adult; he didn’t seem to mind.
And she didn’t give a fuck. She’d spent enough years trapped under men her age or older, swallowing tears and bile as they rutted in her, chasing their own pleasures while she got nothing but self-loathing and an inferiority complex to show for it. She’d stopped caring about anyone else’s happiness but her own around the time she’d married Christopher Cook.
Her hands fisted when she thought of her dead husband. He’d been a monster, and watching him die had been the single best orgasmic moment of her life. Until she’d met Toro.
And if that stubborn man down the hall had given her what she wanted, what she’d been anticipating from the moment they first locked eyes, she wouldn’t be sitting in this bed all frustrated with her nipples still hard and the insides of her thighs slippery.
She was constantly wet around Toro—simply thinking about him had her wet. His purpose was twofold: to distract her from violating the rules Israel had thrown down and to purge this… want. A couple sessions between the sheets, breaking her bed frame, and they’d be good. She would be good.
Her bed saw its fair share of men, but most of them were too afraid of her to do what needed to be done. To truly fuck her. It secretly thrilled her that Toro didn’t have the same mindset. He didn’t care. It was that attitude more than anything else that kept her so interested in him.
Her doorknob twisted and she grabbed her gun on the nightstand, pointing it at the door as it swung open.
Toro stepped inside, gaze narrowing in lazy appreciation as it swept over her.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t lower the weapon. “What the fuck do you want?” That gaze of his was as tangible as his rough fingertips on her thighs, making her shiver. Goddamn it. Last time she shivered this much she’d been in Aspen, struggling to get warm while cursing her dumb ass out for even thinking about going skiing. The very last place she’d wanted to be, but she’d been closing a deal at the time and her associates were at their ski chalet.
When in Rome and all that bullshit.
Toro licked his lips and her body pulsed as he broke eye contact, taking in her bedroom with a smirk on his face. She should be trying to read him, but she just kept staring at his face. She liked his face. The sharp nose, full lips, and clean-shaven jaw. His eyes were the color of a runaway landslide—muddy brown with bits of black and green thrown in—and she already knew she had to be careful that he didn’t sweep her off her feet and toss her on her ass. His hair was a deep brown, almost black, shaved along the back and sides and long on the top. She’d never seen him in a suit, but he would kill that look with his build, with wide and muscular shoulders that tapered down to narrow hips.
A build that said he lifted a lot of weights.
Hell, he could lift her too.
“The bedroom you originally had me in, where is it?” he asked.
It was a simple question, but there was something underneath that she detected, something that made her narrow her eyes at him. “Why?”
He shrugged those massive shoulders. “Just asking.”
And she was Mother Teresa. “Take a right at the staircase,” she told him curtly. “Four doors down.”
His eyes glinted and he stroked his chin. “Right. Right.” He pushed away from where he stood at the door and approached the bed. “How much do you want me out of that bedroom?”
She didn’t know what was coming, but she already hated what he was about to say next. “I want you out.” That was all she was willing to give him.
“And I want to sleep next to you every night.”
Fuck. “I don’t do that.”
“Starting now.”
Her heartbeat sped up and she couldn’t pinpoint why. Why it panicked her, having Toro in her bed. “There’s a perfectly fine bedroom for you to use. I had the housekeeper set it up special for you.” She couldn’t say exactly what she’d sound like when desperate, but maybe it would sound like she did now, her voice climbing to the ceiling, getting higher with every word.
Toro watched her with that glint in his goddamn eyes set in that fucking face she couldn’t stop admiring even now. “I like special,” he conceded in a low tone that showcased just how loud she’d been and made her want to gun him down. “But I think I’d like sleeping next to you more.”
“No.” The last man she’d lain next to had been her husband, and she’d slept with a gun in her right hand and a knife under her pillow.
“Okay.” He turned away abruptly, giving her his back. “Guess I’m gonna be coming all over that pretty bedspread tonight then.”
