CHAPTER TWO
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”You”ll get your product.” Tag, the Mexican dealer contact Acher sent me to find nodded, his arms folded over his chest. ”When I can confirm who you are from California. Got a few connections there I might check in with, seeing as you’re new blood to the area and all.” Sweat glistened on his pock-marked face as he leered at me.
I tried not to look at the sores decorating his skin, or the decay in his mouth when he offered me a too-wide smile and an expulsion of tepid air.
My stomach turned as I eyed the plethora of designer drugs laid out on the folding table in several assorted baggies, trying not to belay my disquiet. Here’s hoping Acher’s got someone good on the other side of the country. Because if the dude looked me up, he’d find a fairly clean man with no criminal history and no trust factor, leaving me a buck shy of the drugs I was meant to take back to Texas.
”Take your time.” I leaned against the doorway, scratching my shoulders on the hard ridge, and tried not to panic.
Breathe. Archer wouldn”t have sent you in if he didn”t have faith in you.
Or backed me up. Unless there was an initiation ceremony I missed.
A slightly smaller man with dark hair perched at the other end of the short table counting money and drinking straight from the tequila bottle at his side. The man had a barrel chest that looked like he could cripple a bear with a one-armed stranglehold.
”Got some friends in SoCal, we do.” Tag turned to the man counting his money. ”Don”t we, Angel?”
Angel nodded, not raising his head from his counting and scribbling something on a pad beside him. I took in as much detail about the room as I possibly could. What sort of weapons they both carried, the size of the stacks of bills on the table, and the number of drugs in their possession.
I knew narcotics tracking was a huge part of Archer’s unit and prevented them from entering the US. That and human trafficking seemed to be his main focus from the short rundown I got in his office.
That was five days ago, and it suddenly seemed like months.
Angel offered me the tequila. I took the bottle with some small reservations, wiping the lip with my shirt and slugged two solid mouthfuls before handing it back. The Patrón burned its way down my throat and numbed my lips.
Angel didn’t so much as look up as I handed the bottle back, but I could swear the man smiled.
”So, who you gonna call?” I lifted my lips at my own joke, though Tag looked at me curiously. I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I”m heading back in a few days. Had a long damn night.” I tacked on the information that wasn”t entirely false.
I spent the night watching the storm roll through and a pair of long legs that appeared over my veranda at the back of the cottage, the sounds of the beach filtering through the still night. Turned out my beach babe took the room next to mine. She had perfect toes and perfect feet too, setting off a fetish I didn’t know I had until then.
Skye. I discovered her name on my second day on bodyguard duty at the beach. Not that she said much to me since then. My time in this shithole of a building was almost up, and I was determined to at least get myself a decent kiss from the girl, refusing to leave Tijuana without one.
I inclined my head, trying to focus back on my job and not perky tits and pink painted toenails that matched her laptop case.
Fuck me. Or her. Either way, I was good with it.
I shifted discreetly to adjust my reaction to the thought. “Anyway. Let me know if you want me to take anything back, or when I head back next time I”m down.”
Tag looked at me sharply. ”You said take your time.”
I shrugged again. ”You can take all the time you want. This trip, next trip, whatever. I ain”t going anywhere.”
”Except back to SoCal,” Angel broke his silence.
I nodded. ”Except for that.”
Tag folded his arms, his fingers jittering against his ribs. A side effect of using his own drugs? ”Come back tomorrow,” he said finally.
”Yes, ma’am.” I ducked out the door before he realised what I said.
As I whipped out of the building, I could”ve sworn Angel smiled again.
***
I shouldn”t have asked to read what she wrote.
That was all that crossed my mind as I stared down at the sexist gibberish that covered the digital page. Mind, seeing as she used a stranger to keep her single status card intact, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Still, those words actually did reduce her sex appeal.
Minutely, maybe.
Fuck it. I still wanted that kiss.
Girls, if you’re going to free air the kitty to encourage your man into action, he might need a little help. Flick the skirt, grind, let his hand wander. Sometimes men can be so ingrained in their habits they usually can’t see what’s right in front of them. But keep it discreet. Subtle is sexy.
I blinked at the screen. What were we, men from the stone ages? Miss Skye Hamilton–I stalked her name and maybe her number in the cottage guest book–needed a little nudge in the right direction. Setting my jaw, I handed her laptop back, ready to rain hell on her thoughts about my sex.
“You might wanna go easy on the, uh, aggressive tone,” I murmured, trying to work out how not to offend her while still getting my point across.
“You don’t like men being objectified the way you have with women for centuries?” She tossed her glorious mane over her shoulder, a defiant glint in her eye that may or may not have bordered on maniacal.
“Damn, that’s pretty. Huh?” I half reached out to touch her, though my hand suddenly stung like hell. “I didn’t deserve that.” I looked at her after studying the pink finger marks on the back of my hand. Really looked at her, and reassessed my original vision of the girl who wouldn’t leave me alone.
Strong, but fragile underneath. She’s covering cracks in her self-belief with muscle so she can fight what–who–ever comes at her.
Nothing about my epiphany made her less sexy in my eyes. Maybe more so, because now I knew she wasn’t just driven, she was also a fighter.
“You did.”
“Nope. Just stating what I see, princess.”
“See.” She flicked sand at me. The golden grains bounced off her laptop case. “Objectifying me.”
“Yeah, just like you did the first day you planted your tush beside me–unobjectified tush–” I held up a finger when her pretty mouth opened–the objectified, pretty mouth I wanted to do bad, bad things to–and kept talking. “–and called me baby oil boy, and big boy, saying I had nothing going for me but muscles.” Okay, so I paraphrased, but that was the gist of it.
Her mouth opened, and closed, then opened again. “That’s not–”
“What you meant to say, but it is what happened,” I reminded her gently. “Maybe you should look inside with this one, Skye, before you send that off to wherever it’s going.”
Personal blog, her friends group, a magazine, what the fuck ever. But she’d get blasted for it, or I had no faith in the female population standing up for their favourite boy toys, and not the battery operated sort.
“How dare you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you understand why I word things the way I do?”
“Enlighten me.”
“You’re ridiculously white,” she seethed. I raised an eyebrow and gestured at her Aryan look. She ignored me. “Privileged may as well be stamped across your forehead. Or maybe it’s on the back of your designer polo.”
“You’re wearing the same label as me.” I pointed out, unwilling to back down just because her bikini bottoms got in a sexy, damp little twist.
“Hudson, let me mansplain this one for you.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I reach women in all corners of the US, and some farther afield. Some are very quiet, conservative areas. Some aren’t white areas.” The obsessive–excuse me, passionate–gleam replaced a flicker of exhaustion in her gaze, lifting the colour in her face. “Let’s say we went out on a date. We got along well, shared a hot kiss, and decided to take it further. Both of us being professional city dwellers, or wherever you come from. Would you think less of me in the morning for it?”
How long were you up writing for last night, Skye? Because she sure as hell outlasted me when I dozed in my chair for half the night, creating new fantasies about my beach towel buddy.
Her gaze fixed on me, and a flush travelled up my cheeks. I resisted the urge to curve my hand around her nape, pull her into me, and find out just what that scenario she outlined felt like first hand.
“Of course not.”
The image of kissing her hard enough to push her against a wall in my room and run my hands up those toned thighs and beneath her sarong ripped through my mind on a swift current of searing arousal.
My cheeks weren’t the only things overheating.
“Good.” She smiled, and there was heat in her gaze, too. “Let’s go back to those country areas. If those women suddenly did a lap dance for their very conservative partner, they could be labelled as sluts, abused, or thrown out. Certainly some would become homeless or humiliated. Maybe...” Her smile faded but her gaze remained intense. She didn’t finish her sentence, and she didn’t need to.
Point made.
I clenched my teeth. “I get that. But it’s–”
“You do. Really?”
“Really, Skye. I do. It’s making a man feel so objectified reading those words. The language. Where’s the love and attraction between your couple in that scenario?” I searched her face this time, my palms pressed to my board shorts. Designer, sure. But only because they came from the closest shop in Texas when I was offered the job on a time trial basis.
“Oh. My. You are, aren’t you?” She shot me a false eye roll and a snarky little smirk I wanted to kiss right off her face. “You’re a romantic. For fuck’s sake, Hudson. Grow up. The world is here for what we take, to make us feel better for our shortcomings. Let me assure you no woman will be happy with everything you do. Love doesn’t work that way.” Her short speech ended on a decisively bitter tang.
I pushed her laptop aside on her tote, leaned forward, and braced an arm over her head on her towel, forcing her to lean back or end up pressed chest to chest with me. Close enough to breathe in her lilies and dewdrops scent. Romantic? Hell, yes. I was a tragic, and I’d cling to that and my man card on my way to hell or my grave one day, whichever came first. No way was I stopping just because...
Skye stared at me through hooded eyes half-covered by thick lashes I wanted to brush my mouth over, and breathe her in. The need in me was reflected in her mirrored gaze. In her dilated pupils. But there was something more there...deeper than desire, something a little darker...
I swore inside my head, and touched her lips tenderly with aching fingers, wishing I’d figured her out that much sooner. Taken a risk that much sooner. “Who hurt you so bad you can’t wear rose tinted glasses for a single moment, Skye?” I brushed my fingers over her cheek, guiding a stray golden strand behind her ear.
She squeaked, and pressed her hands to my chest, though she didn’t push me away. At all. “Don’t touch me. Those things aren’t real, Hudson.” She slipped out from under me, already packing her things into her beach tote, her hands busy as she talked.
Hiding.
She shot me a fragile look, both filled with anger that I’d uncovered her secret and something...more, right before she took off across the beach, her sandals dangling from her fingers and spraying sand everywhere.
My chest closed again. I shouldn’t have said anything. Should I? Fuck, I had no idea. But I couldn’t leave her hurting like that, not when I was the one responsible for upsetting her.
Yeah, that sounded as good a reason as any.
I grabbed my towel, and something hit my foot. Something sharp with metal edges. I collected her purse, tucking the overfilled thing with cards and change and a star necklace poking out at all angles from it, and chased her across the road, darting between pedestrians and finally catching her in the hallway of the cottage.
“Damn, you move fast,” I huffed, not really out of breath but startled she nearly out ran me. I got no answer as she shoved her door–her unlocked door, what the actual fuck?–open with trembling hands.
Taking the risk I probably shouldn’t, I followed her in, closing and locking her door behind me. “Skye, I’m–”
“You shouldn”t be in here.” She stared at me with a blank face, all the roiling emotion of a moment before completely gone.
I blinked at her. Angry Skye, I could manage, even if she irritated the shit out of me. Derisive, snobby Skye, even fragile Skye. But blank Skye? Nope. Seeing her close off like that broke something inside me.
Swallowing hard, I held out her purse. “You left this.”
She stared at me for a second, then caught the pink thing that matched her laptop case. Cursing myself internally as an utter asshole I let her take it, using the movement to circle her wrist in my hand loosely, stopping her retreat.
“Wait.”
“No.”
My eyes shut and I let her go.
Silence fell in the room.
“Just like that?” Her voice trembled a little.
I opened my eyes. “Just like that.”
“You won’t fight for what you want?” Blue eyes bored into mine like she could pierce my fucking soul.
“I’ll never force a woman,” I corrected her, my voice straining. My hands fisted at my sides, and I turned away from her. “Be safe, Skye.”
“You’re all the things I didn’t write about.” Surprise filled her voice.
Rolling my lips together, I squeezed them hard, and turned back. Keep on walking, Hudson. Right out her door. Naturally, I ignored that wise little voice. Why break a lifetime habit?
“Yeah, you’re not writing about men like me. The ones with hearts, whether they wear them on their sleeves, or hide them away for that special life partner who respects them.” I took a step closer, and she didn’t move. “The men who revere their woman, who don’t want anything more than to come home, spend time with her, and make sure her day wasn’t a shitfight, even if his was. To give her everything.” My voice cracked and I gave a hollow laugh, still closing the distance between us step by step. “You’re right. I am a hopeless romantic. Maybe someday it will pay off.”
“You mean it, don’t you?” she whispered, that blank facade coming down, along with the fragile one I recognized. Underneath she was...raw. Beautiful. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone by cheating or abuse.”
I shook my head, unlocking my jaw painfully. “Fucking never.”
A sound rose in her throat and in that second I knew exactly what happened to give her this fractured view of the world. She whirled on her heel, darting for the only other place she could run to hide in–the bathroom.
“You wanna know what a good man looks like, Skye?” I caught her swiftly and turned her into the circle of my arms, drawing her to my chest. “A good man protects. A good man knows when the boundaries have been crossed.” I released her, watching her lips part as furious breaths panted past them. “But despite that, a good man will stay.”
Stepping back, I kept an eye on her, ready to catch her if she–hell, after that I wasn’t ready to say she might swoon but...yeah.
Swoon would fit.