She made him want to be a man she could love.
Wrapping up the length of her hair in his fist, he forced her gaze to his. Slowed his pace. Stroked in and out in a steady, desperate grind.
Eyes locked, mouths connecting and separating, the connection was raw, unhurried, and heavy. Every kiss thrummed with what-ifs, every touch a climbing step to something huge and unstoppable.
A fever of lust.
A bolt of energy.
A blissful fall.
He came with her, syncing their orgasms by eye contact alone.
Her body clamped down on him, spasming, squeezing, as unholy pleasure hit him from all directions. Her hungry mouth crashed down over his, stealing her name as it rode on his groaning breaths.
After, he lay on his back with her body splayed across his chest and her eyes losing the fight against sleep.
When her lashes stopped fluttering, the fringes spread over her cheeks, he started counting each one.
His heart knocked an unusual beat.
Relaxed.
Peaceful.
Happy.
But it wouldn’t last.
In three days, he would come out of hiding and take Kate with him.
There was no way around it. He’d been holed up in the desert for two months. Eventually, his enemies would find him, and here, he only had the protection of a handful of guards.
He needed to get his ass back to Caracas, where he would be surrounded by the fortification of his neighborhood and the hundreds of loyal criminals who worked for him.
But once he arrived in the city, his enemies would know.
Twelve years ago, he killed some important people and painted a target on his back. That had never mattered to him. Until now.
Until Kate.
There were so many ways he could lose her. So many fucking enemies. DEA, FBI, local crime lords, the Mexican government, neighboring cartels who fought for his smuggling routes, and of course, Lucia’s brother-in-law and capo of the Colombian cartel, Matias Restrepo.
The biggest threat, however, was Cole Hartman.
Hartman had steered Tate directly to Lucia, and now he was helping Lucia locate Tate. Once that job was finished, he would come after Kate.
If anyone could separate her from Tiago, it was that fucking guy.
A tremor attacked his muscles, the barbs of dread sinking in and shredding his insides.
Tightening his arms around her, he pulled her closer against his chest and buried his nose in her hair. In her sleep, she burrowed into the shelter of his body and sighed.
When he lost Semira, he surrendered his humanity.
If he lost Kate, he would surrender everything.Tiago woke with a start, his pulse pelting against his throat as the hum of a distant car engine lingered in his mind.
Had he dreamed it? Or had he heard it in his sleep?
The sky hung beyond the barred window like a black velvet blanket, hours before dawn.
No one should’ve been coming or going. Not the guards. Absolutely no visitors.
He held himself motionless, his hand possessively gripping Kate’s perfect ass beneath her panties.
He didn’t wear a stitch of clothing. No weapons within reach. He could only stare across the dark room in the direction of the locked door and listen.
The pitchlike silence heightened his paranoia, making him twitchy.
Seconds pounded by. Minutes. His hearing strained against the hush. No sounds. No movement.
Probably just remnants of the dread he’d carried into sleep.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong.
Reluctantly, he untwined his arms and legs from Kate’s slender limbs, despising the separation from her soft, warm skin.
Moving quietly in the dark, he was careful not to wake her. But as he unfolded from the mattress, her groggy whisper floated up.
“Where are you going?”
He lowered back to the bed and kissed her parted lips.
“Getting some water.” He traced the scalloped hem of her panties and fingered the bandage on her thigh, checking that it hadn’t unraveled. “Need anything?”
“More sleep.” She rolled away, her breathing instantly falling into an even rhythm.
He ran a hand down her spine, smoothing the oversized shirt. His shirt.
He’d fucked her so many times last night she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes open. Eventually, he’d put her in the panties and his shirt, because sleeping beside her nude body…
His dicked jerked. Started to harden.
Yeah.
Rising to his feet, he navigated through the dark room, located his bag of clothes, and pulled on the first thing he found. A pair of sweatpants.
Then he grabbed his phone and checked his messages on his way to the stairwell.
Just after three in the morning. No notifications. No missed calls. A quick peek at the live video of the shack confirmed Tate was safe and asleep.
At the bottom of the stairs, he scanned the main room. Muted light from the kitchen illuminated one occupied mattress. Arturo.
No reason to wake him. Not yet. The other guards would’ve been outside, patrolling the perimeter.
Except there should’ve been more of them asleep at this hour. Three on the day shift. Three on the night shift.