He reached up and flicked off the light switch, leaving the dim illumination of the night light in the wall outlet. Then he prowled toward her on hands and knees, his blue eyes glinting. Unsure of his intent, she didn’t know whether to sigh or tense up.
His arm caught her waist, and he dragged her against him. She clung to his shoulders as he rolled and adjusted until they were on their sides, chest to chest, snug under the blanket.
“We’re going to sleep?” She slid her fingers through his hair, stroking.
“Yep.”
He was so close she smelled all his distinctive aromas—salty skin and warm sex and musky masculinity.
She felt high on his scent, the deep sounds of his breaths, and the euphoric heat of his body tucked against hers. “Are you still awake?”
He laughed, a rumbling delightful sound. “I doubt I’ll sleep tonight.”
“Why?”
“I want to enjoy this.” He twined his legs around hers and rubbed her back. “Feels too good.”
Her chest fluttered and stretched with his words. “Tell me about you. Your full name. Age. Childhood. Anything.”
“Tate Anthony Vades. Twenty-five. I grew up in a whorehouse.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
His gravelly voice drifted around her as he told her about The Velvet Den, the traumatic way he lost his virginity, and his admiration for the woman who raised him.
She talked about the citrus grove and her favorite memories of Matias and Camila.
He spoke about the roses inked on his arm and the whores he spent his childhood with.
Then she explained how Tiago administered her injections—in his room, without her clothes and weapons, with the safe only a few feet away. Locked. Inaccessible. She’d never seen inside it.
As the night crept by, they got to know each other through words. And kissing. He kissed her often. Lazy, unassuming kisses without urgency or intention. Kissing for the sole purpose of expressing affection.
He told her about his house and his roommates—four men and a woman. Then he kissed her again, his hands never leaving her body and his arms tightly wound around her back.
“I want to call Matias,” he breathed against her lips.
She knew why. In just a couple short hours, she would be back with Tiago where Tate couldn’t protect her, couldn’t control what happened to her, and that didn’t sit well with a man like him. But if he made that call, Matias would come to Caracas and risk his life and that of his men to extract her from Tiago’s world. And for what purpose? To free a dying woman?
She couldn’t even consider threatening Camila’s happiness until she knew there was a chance of survival.
“Wait for the blood test,” she said. “If it reveals a diagnosis and treatment, I’ll go wherever you tell me to go. How long will it take to get the results back?”
“Several days.” His jaw flexed against hers. “I don’t like this.”
“I know.” She snuggled closer, burrowing against his chest. “But I like this. I’ve never slept in a bed with a man.”
He hummed a growly sigh and squeezed her butt. “I’ll be your first and your last.”
What did that mean? She lifted her head. “Why?”
“As long as I’m alive, I’ll be the only man in your bed.”
She stared at him, lips parting, and blinked.
“Close your mouth and go to sleep.” He gripped her neck and pressed her cheek to his chest.
“You’re a Neanderthal.”
“I’ve been called worse. Now sleep.”
And she did. It was the best sleep she’d ever had, and so was the next night, and the next.
For the next five nights, it was just him and her and the protective bubble he built around them.
She went to the compound for her injections in the mornings and the mandatory dinners in the evenings. While in Tiago’s presence, she exaggerated her illness, moaning and stumbling and feigning vertigo until he sent her home.
And Tate was always there, waiting for her.
He stocked her apartment with food and necessities, added discreet bolts on the insides of the doors, and drew her blood when the test kit arrived.
Now it was a waiting game, a delay of action until the results came back. They bided their time in her tiny windowless space, talking, eating, sleeping, and exploring each other emotionally and physically.
His hunger for her was insatiable. They fucked daily and nightly, in every manner of motion, mood, and position. And holy hell, the man loved to kiss. She was kissed more in those five days than in the previous thirty years of her life.
It was five days of intoxicating, Tate-induced bliss. She never wanted it to end.
But like all good things…
The old adage got it right.
Except her good thing didn’t just come to an end. It ripped open and bled out in a devastation of pain.
CHAPTER 18
“Feeling better tonight?” Tiago studied Lucia from across the table in his private dining room.
She let him see the trembling in her hand as she pushed away her empty plate. “No.”
It was the truth. Tonight was going to be a bad night. She felt it simmering inside her—the queasiness, the tremors, and the pinpricks numbing her lower body.
The last time she lost mobility, he left her on the floor in the common area of the compound, paralyzed, vulnerable, unable to move her legs to walk home.
“I don’t feel well at all.” She shifted to the edge of the seat and craned her neck for a better view of the hall outside the dining room. “I’m ready to go home.”
Armed guards lined the corridor. Three times more men than usual. Restless energy buzzed through them as they fidgeted and whispered to one another. Something was wrong.
“Did something happen?” Dread curled in her gut, aggravating the nausea.
“There’s a spy in my neighborhood.” Tiago set his utensils down, casually dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and imprisoned her gaze. “Do you know anything about that?”
“No.”
It took every ounce of discipline she could muster to moderate her expression. Meanwhile, her heart clambered the rungs of her ribs and pounded a terrified howl in her throat.
Did he capture Tate? Was he holding him in the basement chamber to await an unspeakable night of torture?
Saliva rushed over her tongue, bringing with it the urgent need to throw up. Her sickness, nerves, fear—all of it rose up and contorted her face.
But Tiago didn’t notice, his attention locked on the man striding into the room.
Armando, her fellow torturer, paused beside Tiago’s chair and said in Spanish, “We have him.”
Her stomach bottomed out, and her blood turned to ice.
No, please, God. This can’t be happening.
The guns holstered in her waistband grew hot and heavy, begging her to reach for them. But a guard stood at her back, and two more bracketed the door.
“Muy bien.” Tiago stood and offered her his hand. “Shall we?”
Terror held her frozen in the chair. She could fight, but they were physically stronger. She had weapons, but they had more. If she died in this room, Tate would die, too.
He’s dead no matter what.
She needed to get the fuck out of there and alert Van. He could contact that Cole Hartman guy and… She didn’t know, but it was the only option she had, and Tiago was waiting.
She made her legs work, putting her weight on the heels as she hoisted herself from the chair. Her knees locked, and she took a wobbly step.
“Tiago… I think I’m…” Dizziness swept her into a spinning fog.
She clutched the table, careening sideways and catching herself before she hit the floor.
Fucking hell, she was going downhill quick. Her abdomen spasmed and clenched, and her head pounded. Her throat was so tight she couldn’t swallow. It felt like her insides were being wrung out and tied up. Everything hurt.
Tiago stared at her from a foot away, his bored expression growing blurrier with each heavy blink of her eyes.
Fuck him. I can do this.
Resisting the urge to puke, she pushed through the pain, straightened to her full height, and stepped toward him.
Only her legs didn’t move. She couldn’t feel them. Couldn’t feel her hands or her heartbeat. She swayed in the whirling room, battling to stay upright, and willing her body to cooperate.
Don’t give up on me. Please, not now. I can’t—
The floor fell out beneath her, and she plummeted into the black void of nothingness.
CHAPTER 19
Lucia woke to the sound of bloodcurdling screams. The strident howling echoed at a distance, but she knew it was coming from only feet away. Garbled and frothing with spit, it sounded like a dying animal. But as her senses focused and disorientation burned away, she realized it was a man in unfathomable pain.