Take (Deliver 5)

“A penny for your thoughts?” Iliana sat across the kitchen table from her, smiling over the lip of a coffee mug.

“Nope.” She pushed the syllable past the thousand vindictive things she wanted to say.

A week had passed since she walked in on Tiago and Iliana. Every time she saw them together, Iliana had her hands on him, touching him in a suggestive way. He tolerated the attention to a point.

When she tried to kiss him, he jerked away. If her fingers dipped below his belt, same response. But none of that was required for fucking. Which they were doing. Why else would they be in the backroom together every day?

Iliana didn’t hide her intentions. She was obnoxiously flirtatious, not just with Tiago but with everyone, including Kate. Sex dripped from every glance and gesture, but Kate sensed something reserved and steely behind the bawdiness.

“You have great tits.” Iliana cocked her head. “Every time those little nipples harden, I get wet.”

The wardrobe Boones had bought didn’t include bras. It wasn’t her fault she nipped out, and whenever Iliana brought attention to it in front of Arturo, Kate wanted to rip out the woman’s tongue.

Pushing away from the table, she grabbed her dishes and rinsed them in the sink.

“Hey.” Iliana caught up with her, leaning close to tuck a lock of hair behind Kate’s ear. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t touch me.” She ground her molars.

“Shit, Kate. It’s just…” Soft brown eyes blinked beneath long lashes. “You’re so beautiful. I totally get why he’s crazy about you.”

“What?” Her pulse quickened. “Who?”

“El jefe.” Iliana scraped a hand over her black pixie cut and sighed. “Your naivety makes you even more desirable.” She glanced at her watch. “Damn. Gotta run, babe. I’ll see you at dinner.” She turned and winked at Arturo. “You, too, handsome.”

Kate gripped the edge of the sink and waited until the front door shut before releasing a heavy breath.

“She has no off switch.” She peeked over her shoulder and met Arturo’s eyes. “Are you fucking her?”

He shrugged, expressionless.

“Well, your boss is fucking her, too, so enjoy those leftovers.” She twisted to face him. “Why did she say he’s crazy about me?”

The only thing that moved was his eyes. One slow blink.

“I’m not naive, Arturo.” She crossed her arms. “Tiago doesn’t get crazy about people. He’s just crazy. Period.”

No response.

“Great talk.” She swiveled back to the sink and tackled the rest of the breakfast dishes.

A few minutes later, something thumped in the hallway. Footsteps sounded, staggering from that direction and closing in. She turned just as Tiago stumbled into the kitchen.

“Mierda.” He gripped his head, his face creased with pain. “I need…”

He pitched forward with a lurch. She tried to jump out of his way, but he landed against her, trapping her back against the counter.

Did someone attack him?

She scanned his sweaty, half-naked frame for blood and found none. “What do you need?”

“Goddamn head. Fucking kills.” He let his weight slump against her, holding his skull in one hand while swinging the other across the counter behind her and knocking dishes to the floor. “Agua…”

He looked like he needed more than water. He’d pushed himself too hard. Even the healthiest man would eventually collapse beneath the rigorous exercise he’d been putting himself through. But what did she care?

“You’re crushing me.” She shoved at his steel chest.

“Jusss a minuto,” he slurred, dropping his brow to her shoulder and breathing heavily.

His proximity saturated her senses, the length of his body smothering her from head to toe. His thighs against hers, the cage of his arms holding her in place, she couldn’t evade the heat of his flesh, the stroke of his breath on her neck, and his scent…

Sweet hell, he radiated the scent of a man when the exertion of work warmed his early washed skin. She tasted the potency of it on her lips, breathed him into her lungs, and somewhere low in her core, she throbbed.

“Drink.” Boones appeared out of nowhere, holding a glass of water to Tiago’s mouth.

Tiago pushed off her and gulped down the fluid as Boones rattled off a string of short, unfamiliar words. Despite the calmness in his voice, the old man’s eyes flashed with ire.

A conversation ensued between them. It sounded casual to the ear, but she sensed the undertones of a heated argument. It ended with Tiago staggering toward the stairs alone.

Boones watched him go and gripped her arm. “I’ll make lunch, and you’ll deliver it to him.”

“I’d rather not.”

“That’s an order. His order.” He pointed at the far cabinet. “Grab the medium pot.”

Fifteen minutes later, she trudged into Tiago’s room, carrying a tray of heated soup for two, crusty bread, bottled water, hot tea, and various pills.

Her stomach tumbled as she searched the empty space and paused on the bathroom. Steam drifted from the doorway, bringing with it the aroma of masculine soap.