Violent Delights (White Monarch 1)

He lowered me onto the cushion of a chaise lounge and kneeled at my feet to remove my shoes. He kissed the inside of my ankle, and I shivered as he grazed his five o’clock shadow up the inside of my leg. He climbed over me, and fixed his mouth on mine, his kiss becoming hungry as our tongues met fast and slippery. “I want you so bad, Tali,” he said, panting. “I can’t wait any longer to bury myself inside you.”

His bold words thrilled me, and as he kissed his way down my collarbone and chest, I doubted my decision to wait. Diego and I were destined. Tomorrow would go well, and he’d come to California.

If it didn’t, then I’d have bigger worries than my virginity.

If anything went wrong, wouldn’t I wish I’d had this night with him?

We were as good as committed to each other. Why wait for a ceremony?

Diego paused, lifting his head. “Where’d you go, princesa?”

“I’m here. I was just trying to remember why we’re waiting.”

“How much of that vodka did you drink?” he asked with a haphazard smile.

“It’s not that. I feel fine. I’m just . . .”

“Horny?”

I laughed. “That goes without saying.”

“You have no idea how much it turns me on to know that you’re turned on.” He sat back on his calves. “But if you have to think about whether you’re ready, then we shouldn’t go any further.”

I sat up on my elbows, awed by his restraint. By his gallantry. “Really?” I asked.

“Our first time isn’t going to be on top of a warehouse. Or any piece of property that belongs to my fucking brother.” He stretched out next to me, and I lifted my head to settle into the crook of his arm. “Damn,” he said. “It feels good to lie down.”

“Do you have to come back here after you drop me off?”

“Yeah I will, even though Jojo told me to go home and sleep since I need to be alert during the delivery.”

I glanced up at him. “You’re going with them tomorrow?”

“I have to.” With his eyes on the sky, his jaw squared as he swallowed. “It’s too important for me not to be there.”

My heart sank. The last shipment to attempt to cross the border had been blown up, killing two men. “Aren’t you more valuable here?” I asked. “Like those people in the movies who stay in the control center during a shuttle launch?”

Diego kissed my temple when I shuddered. “I’ll be all right. Don’t worry. I’m more resilient than you think, and I’m not planning to meet God any time soon.”

I let his resolve soothe me. Because it was that same determination in his voice that told me I wouldn’t be able to talk him out of going. A sense of duty ran almost as deeply as loyalty within the cartel. Diego would see this through to the end.

I wanted to be content to sit in peace with Diego and take in these rare moments we had alone, but because the past had crept up on me in the car, my mind kept flashing there. The nebulous shape of my mother’s blood on the cold tile. The black, cold-as-steel Glock engulfed by Cristiano’s hand. I smelled gunpowder and expensive perfume and heard my father’s sobs, as subdued as thunder, the night he’d returned home from his trip. My mother had struggled to warn me about Cristiano. If he hadn’t shot her, why had she looked so scared as she’d pleaded with him for my life?

I’d locked these memories away, but Cristiano’s presence dredged up more each day. His cryptic words earlier had wormed their way into my consciousness. I’d gotten good at pushing the darkness away, but tonight, it pushed back.

Were there other things about that day I hadn’t noticed? Could someone else have gotten into the house somehow? I’d spent almost half of my life seeing Cristiano as a protector—but I’d spent more of it thinking of him as my mother’s murderer. Diego, too, had believed the worst in his brother for a long time.

Diego squeezed me closer. “You got quiet. You all right?”

“Are you?” I asked.

His eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

“We’ve talked a lot about how I’m dealing with everything, but I haven’t really asked what it’s like for you to have Cristiano back—and to consider he might not have done this.”

He scratched the bridge of his nose. “I . . . I’m not sure it matters. Whether Cristiano murdered Bianca or not, too much damage has been done.” His chest expanded with a deep inhale. “There’s no chance Cristiano and I could repair our relationship.”

“Even if he’s proven innocent?” I asked. “I’ve spent a long time blaming him for this too, but as much as I don’t trust him, I do trust my father.”

“Cristiano’s not innocent,” Diego said without an ounce of doubt. “But neither am I.”