Perfect Rage (Unyielding 3)

“Nothing wrong with silly. And my room is the only place I can have you all to myself. Our first date.”

My brows lifted. “So this is a date now? You failed to mention that. I think your words were, ‘Let’s grab some chow in my room’.” But I was totally into him calling it a date.

He laughed. “Babe, what did you think I meant?” He handed me a sandwich wrap then a bag of chips.

I held up the small potato chip bag. “Where did you get this?”

“My private stash.” He opened his chip bag and the air released. It crinkled as he reached inside, pulled out a chip and then tossed it in his mouth.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to eat dessert last?”

“Fuck yeah, she tried.” He chucked another chip in his mouth and I heard it crunch as he chomped down on it. “But I don’t live by the rules at home. Have enough here. Mom gave up teaching me anything a long time ago. Now she just gives me a disappointed look that makes me feel like shit.”

“What’s her name?” I opened my chips, took one out and put it in my mouth.

“Karen. Dad is Frank and I have a little sister, Georgie.” Then he told me how he was worried his sister was being bullied at school and I knew from the way his tone dropped that he was upset he wasn’t there to protect her.

I was betting once in his circle, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect you.

He put down his chips, picked up the bottled water and chugged back a big gulp before holding it out to me. Our hands brushed as I reached for it and tingles erupted.

In five days, there’d been nothing except accidental touches and I couldn’t help but want more. A hell of a lot more. God, I wanted him to kiss me. Touch me. Anything. He was driving me insane and I had a feeling he knew it.

Luckily, I’d been fairly busy getting photos of the kids in their classrooms, or in the yard or doing chores. The place needed desperate attention and had too many children with too few volunteers. Countless times I found myself having to lower the camera because my eyes filled with tears as I watched the kids.

Jaz was busy doing interviews with agency workers and the kids who spoke English. We had plenty of time and Jaz wanted to get a feel for what it was like living here day in and day out.

Connor spent a good amount of the time interacting with the kids, playing football or helping with repairs. But every morning he had breakfast with me and Jaz, and most days, lunch and dinner. But today, he insisted on us eating alone.

He bit into his wrap and a few grains of rice fell onto the blanket. He nodded, chewing then swallowed before he said, “Are you going home after this?”

Home. I hadn’t told him anything about home. He knew I grew up in Colombia, but I kept my father’s illegal activity and any involvement with Carlos Moreno a secret. I had a strong feeling that with Connor’s protective nature he’d be unhappy to hear that I was running from the attention of a powerful drug lord.

“I’m not sure yet,” I answered honestly. “Jaz and I have to return to Miami and then we’ll see.” I was hoping the magazine liked my work enough to hire me and extend my visa.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds and then, “Stick with Jaz. He’s a good guy. Knows what he’s doing. He’ll look out for you.”

Jaz was experienced and I really liked him, kind of like a father figure the way he was with me, but a cool, laid-back father.

We talked for an hour about where I saw myself going with my photography. Then I asked about his passion for motorcycles, which I discovered stemmed from when he was a kid and raced dirt bikes.

Then we just talked. Inconsequential stuff like music, movies, and books, to which I found out he loved to read and write. I guess that was why he kept a journal.

I reached for my camera, unsnapped the lens cover and adjusted the focus before lying back beside him and holding it above us.

I pressed the button and took several pictures, but it was impossible to tell what exactly I was shooting and I was sure they were awful, but I wanted something of this moment to take with me.

Connor moved. It was lithe and agile as he rolled up on his side, his hand cupping my chin and tilting my head toward him.

I froze, breath catching in my throat.

“Keep shooting, baby,” he murmured in a low, sexy voice that made me quiver.

I kept shooting. “Connor?” I whispered.

His knee settled between my legs before he shifted so he hovered half over me. He kissed the edge of my jaw, then the curve of my neck, then the spot just below my ear. I continued to press the shutter having no idea how many pictures I took of us because all I was thinking about were his lips on me.