I didn’t expect that from Natalia now, but I could be a persistent motherfucker when I wanted something. And I wanted the home, the contented life I’d once had before I’d been forced to give it up.
“By seeking out the Valverde ghosts, you’re plunging yourself into the past,” Tasha warned. “Whatever you want them for, it must be connected to her.”
I kept my mouth shut. I appreciated Tasha’s help, but I wasn’t about to share any more than I already had. “Enjoy the party,” I said.
She rose onto the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to my cheek. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to come back to my apartment?” She cupped her hand around my dick, and it twitched against her palm. “I’m wearing that invisible underwear you love so much.”
It would be so easy to lose myself in her for tonight. I couldn’t remember being so riled up in all my life as I was waiting for Natalia to invite me into her bed. Not even when I’d first fled the Cruz’s home and had gone an embarrassing amount of time without a woman. I was crazed for Natalia, evidenced by the fact that I’d broken down and fucked her mouth when I’d promised myself I’d wait until I knew for sure it was what she wanted.
But in Natalia, I saw the potential for so much. As Tasha had just said—it was a lot to put on one person’s shoulders, but I had faith. A night with another woman might not be much, especially around here, but to me, it was one small way of giving up hope in Natalia and me—and that, I wouldn’t do. Not yet.
I removed Tasha’s hand from my crotch. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m certain.”
She pouted. “I lied earlier. Every other cock I’ve met is better than yours, simply because they didn’t deny me.”
I laughed. “If it makes you feel better, it’s not my cock that denies you.”
“Your heart?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “The same thing that rules everything else—my reason.”
“Very well,” she said, backing away. “You know how to reach me if you change your mind.”
I longed to bury myself somewhere warm and wet, but whereas in the past, any woman would have been good enough, now, only one would do.
Natalia was a conquest that would undoubtedly conquer me back.
I had seeds of hope that I might yet earn her devotion. That hope drove me. It was why I stood here now.
I walked back into the party, motioning for Max and Daniel.
“What now, boss?” Daniel asked, plucking a mint from a glass bowl on our way through the lobby.
“We head south,” I said as we headed outside, passing under the bright lights of the hotel’s awning. “Start gathering satellite images of the terrain and mountain ranges,” I continued, stopping at the valet stand, “and putting out feelers for information from existing and potential sources.” I glanced around for one of the parking attendants, eager to move. “We have plenty of contacts at the México-Guatemala border, which—puta madre,” I cursed. “Why the fuck did they make us valet if nobody’s working?”
Due to the high-profile nature of the event, we’d been forced to hand over the keys to the Suburban, but for such a high-end hotel in this city, the service was shit.
“I’m on it,” Max said, sauntering into the small booth. He swiped our keys and took off running.
My phone buzzed, and I slipped it from my pocket to check the screen.
Natalia.
Twice in one night? Maybe one day, that would be the norm . . . but now, it wasn’t right. And it set off warning bells.
With a quick glance at Daniel, I said, “Get ahold of Alejo. Check on things at the house, yeah?”
“You already had me do that hours ago,” he said, snickering at my overprotectiveness of Natalia.
“Do it the fuck again or I’ll leave you in that party,” I threatened.
His eyes flew open. It was enough to get him on his phone. He stepped away to call Alejandro as I swiped my finger across the screen. “Natalia,” I answered. “What is it?”
“Cristiano. I’m—I’m sorry to call again, and so late.”
“It’s not late.” Surveying the space around me, I stuck a hand in my pocket and paced toward the lawn for privacy. “Call me any hour of the night. I leave my phone on for you.”
She took a breath, and with that small inhale, I sensed some hesitation. Was it possible to read her just through respiration—tiny, sexy gasps, light exhales, heavy pants? Fuck. Perhaps I was descending into madness already . . .
“What is it?” I repeated. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said, but it wasn’t as resolute as I’d have liked. She almost hedged on fearful. “Everything’s fine, I just . . .”
With the ensuing silence, my hand sweat around the phone. Why the fuck was one damned phone call and a few simple words making my heart pound?