He refused to admit she was right.
The rush of water sounded from the master bath as he forced his heavy feet across the bleached wood flooring.
Bold, colorful artwork punctuated the white walls, and the sleek, minimalist furniture satisfied his modern aesthetic. The penthouse didn’t drip in gold accents or conform to the lavish styles of a moneyed Venezuelan, but it was exorbitant, nonetheless.
“I ran a hot bath.” Boones stepped out of the en suite. “Use it, but keep your chest above the water.”
A bath sounded perfect, especially with the woman handcuffed to his arm.
“You can’t leave the penthouse.” Boones ambled toward the hall. “No one knows you’re in Caracas, and it needs to stay that way until you’re recovered.”
Because of Kate.
Word of Tiago’s return would spread, and when that happened, Matias Restrepo and Cole Hartman would learn her location.
Tiago had planned for this complication upon his return, but those plans hadn’t included getting shot and stabbed.
He needed to meet with the biggest, most powerful constituents in his network, attend their parties, and prove to them he was still strong and undefeated. Only then could he petition them for their support in keeping her friends out of Caracas. If he didn’t, Matias Restrepo would snake his way in and turn the entire city against Tiago.
“I want you in bed after the bath.” Boones gripped the doorframe, looking as tired as Tiago felt. “Breakfast will be brought in shortly.”
“Thanks, Boones.”
The penthouse had a full-service staff, such as an on-site maid, cook, and personal guards who had been here for Boones since the beginning.
Tiago owned the entire building, and the security was the best money could buy. No one could penetrate these walls without getting blown to bits in the process.
He made his way to the desk in the corner of the bedroom, with Kate keeping pace at his side. She angled toward the nearby window that overlooked the violence, poverty, and despair of the slums below.
“It’s weird.” Her brows pinched as she took in the view of crumbling concrete and rusted metal roofs. “The top floor of this building feels like a palace, and it stares down at that. It feels wrong.”
He agreed, which was why he’d never stayed a single night here. He deserved to be down there amid the strife and misery, but she didn’t.
“When the economy went to shit, many of Venezuela’s aristocratic families moved to Miami, including the untouchable enchufados.” He dug through the desk drawer and grabbed a paper clip. “I bought this abandoned tower for a steal and fortified it to keep Boones and his brothers safe.”
“Do you think Boones will ever go home to be with his brothers?”
“No. I’ve tried to make him leave. He’s stubborn.”
She nodded, her expression contemplative. “What now?”
“Bath, food, sleep. In that order.” Forcing his heavy feet across the room, he pulled her along.
When he reached the massive tub, steam rose from the water, infused with the calming scent of Boones’ herbs. She hung back, as far as the handcuffs allowed, and shifted her weight from foot to foot.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“I need to pee.”
He pivoted, somewhat clumsily, and led her to the toilet. “Sit.”
“How about you use that paper clip you’re hiding in your fist and unlock the handcuffs?”
Christ, she was perceptive. And sexy as fuck.
If he weren’t seconds from face-planting on the marble floor, he would plant his face between her gorgeous legs.
Instead, he hardened his expression in silent command.
Her glare sparked with objections as she kicked off her shoes, shoved off the shorts, and plopped down on the toilet with an urgent release of her bladder.
While she peed, he stripped his clothes from the waist down. He was already shirtless, but every movement ignited an inferno in his shoulder. He gripped the edge of the counter and breathed through the pain until it passed.
“If you removed the handcuffs, I could help you into the bath.” She hit the flusher and stood.
“You’re getting in with me.”
A tsunami of resistance came at him, emanating from her rigid posture.
He nudged her to the side, braced a straight arm on the wall above the toilet, and used his shackled hand to angle his dick while he peed.
She watched for a second before pressing her lips together and looking away.
“I want to piss all over your tight little pussy,” he said, just to further ruffle her feathers.
She ground her teeth.
“I’m going to cut you again.” His tone was flippant, but there was nothing casual about his intentions. He meant every word.
She tensed. “Can we just…not have this conversation right now? I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for it and could really use a couple of days without any blood or violence.”
The cynical side of him wanted to push her even more, but there was a stronger impulse to do something completely foreign. She needed rest as much as he did, and he felt an overwhelming need to simply take care of her.