When Lies Unfold

Chapter 30

I wakeup before my alarm, with two small feet tucked in between my ribs. But that isn’t what has my heart skipping a beat.

It’s the delicate hand holding mine, even in her sleep.

As gently as possible, I liberate my hand from Alma’s death grip and ease off the bed. I stretch before rubbing my sore ribs. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I shut off my scheduled alarm, so it doesn’t wake her.

Gathering my clothes for the day, I pad into the bathroom and shut the door quietly behind me. Once I’m showered and dressed for work, I emerge from the bathroom to find Alma sprawled in starfish fashion but now hugging my pillow.

She seems so tiny and vulnerable in the king-size bed, and I hesitate before padding toward her. Gently smoothing back her hair from her face, I place a light kiss to her temple. Then I straighten, grab my bag from the dresser, and shove my phone inside before looping the strap over my head and across my chest.

Turning to leave, I jerk in alarm, my hand flying to my chest at the person looming in the doorway of my bedroom.

I didn’t even hear him open the damn door.

Santiago tips his head to the side, gesturing for me to step out and follow him. As quietly as possible, I pull the bedroom door closed behind me.

The eerily empty hallway gives me the impression we’re in our own little bubble.

Those dark eyes study me with an intensity. “How’re the wrists?”

“They’re much better.” Begrudgingly, I tack on, “Thank you again.”

He lowers his chin in acknowledgment. Then his voice turns low and gravelly. “You sleep okay?”

I eye him warily, wondering if this is another one of his tests. A trick question, of sorts. “Well enough, considering.”

His mouth tenses briefly. “Even with a guest?”

My brain isn’t ready for an interrogation this early—least of all without coffee.

I expel a loud sigh. “If you’re planning to interrogate me, can we do it after I’ve had coffee and”—I gingerly rub along my right side—“massaged away the permanent imprint of someone’s feet in my ribs?”

Something indecipherable flashes in his eyes. “Coulda sent her back to her room.”

An impatient groan spills past my lips, and I lean a shoulder against the wall, covering my yawn with my hand. “Again, I need coffee first.”

His eyes bore into me for a beat. “Let’s get you coffee, then.”

He gestures for me to step beside him, and we walk toward the kitchen. Once we enter, we’re greeted by Javier bustling about. When the cook notices me, his smile is instantaneous. “Lola! Good morning.”

The instant Santiago pointedly clears his throat, Javier’s smile drops, his tone taking on a more detached air. “Perdón. Good morning, Miss Arias.”

“Good morning, Javier.”

I flash Santiago a squinty-eyed glare, but he ignores me as we take our seats at the table. Javier rushes over with two cups of coffee, placing each carefully in front of us. Then he’s off to tend to whatever he has on the stove.

I cradle the mug and close my eyes, inhaling the delicious aroma before taking a cautious sip of the steaming brew. Once I open my eyes, they clash with his.

Caution saturates my tone. “What?”

He holds my gaze for another moment, then takes a sip of his coffee before responding. “Why didn’t you send her back to her room?”

I blink, still sifting through the sleepy cobwebs in my brain, attempting to follow his line of questioning. Lifting one shoulder, I murmur, “She had a nightmare,” before taking another sip of coffee.

Javier appears beside us, delivering our breakfast plates. With a muted announcement, he sets my breakfast in front of me, “Huevos revueltos, gallo pinto, plátanos, un croissant, y tocineta. Buen provecho?1,” before setting a plate of scrambled eggs and chorizo in front of Santiago.

Javier returns to the far side of the kitchen, and I don’t hesitate to dig into the food. Not only does it smell delicious, but gallo pinto is one of my favorite dishes.

Everything is perfectly prepared, and I savor the meal. It’s not every day I get to indulge in bacon or croissants since they’re well outside my budget.

I’m about four bites in before I register Santiago’s attention resting on me and realize he hasn’t yet touched his food.

Leaning back in his chair with those tattooed fingers wrapped around his coffee cup, he takes a sip while eyeing me over the rim.

His slate-gray button-down shirt is undone at his throat, revealing black-inked designs that disappear beneath the fabric. That large skull over his Adam’s apple stares back at me with its hollowed eye sockets.

“She had a nightmare.” He repeats this slowly. “You still coulda sent her back to her room.”

I lower my fork, mustering patience. “I could’ve, but I didn’t. She just had a nightmare and needed a moment.”

“Which turned into all night.”

“I think we all know what it’s like to have a nightmare…as a child.” I tack on the last three words hastily because I know better than to dangle anything in front of him that he might use against me.

His eyes narrow a fraction, and I internally scold myself, because this man is astute as hell.

I shovel in a few more bites, eager to fill my stomach enough to excuse myself.

“Gordo tell you what’s up?”

I wash down my food with a final sip of coffee and sit back. “He mentioned something about me being treated like a”—I hook my fingers in air quotes—“guest.”

One dark brow lifts a fraction. “Don’t sound like you believe it.”

I widen my eyes and blink innocently. “After the wonderful hospitality you’ve shown me, why on earth would I think that?”

His features turn to granite. “There’s that mouth of yours again.”

I offer a fake smile. “Gordo seems to like it.”

Fury descends over his features. His demanding words are devoid of inflection as an inquiry, holding more of a threat. “The fuck kind of business does Gordo have with your mouth.”

“He was only trying to come up with BFF names. And failing miserably, I might add.”

“BFF names.” He repeats this slowly, as if it’s something foreign to him.

Knowing him, it probably is.

“You know, best-friends-forever names?” And at his blank expression, I explain. “He suggested we combine our names in a shortened version. Like GorLol and LoGo, for example.” A huff of laughter escapes me at Gordo’s ridiculousness. “He definitely needs to work on better ones.”

“That so?” A trace of interest crosses his face, but it disappears so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it.

“That’s so.” A quick glance at the wall clock indicates I’m running short on time, so I rise from my seat. “Well, I need to get going.”

He follows suit, straightening to his tall form, and I swallow hard. The way his button-down shirt fits across his broad chest and his black pants mold to his firm, muscled legs taunts me, because I know firsthand what that clothing disguises.

I’m grateful when an older man strides in, dressed in gray slacks and a white button-down shirt. “Good morning!”

Mostly bald, aside from the closely shaven gray hair on the sides, he flashes a broad smile. Addressing Santiago, he dips his chin in a nod. “Sir.” To me, he offers his hand. “You must be the woman I heard so much about. I’m Dr. Cristiano Trejos.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Trejos.” I shake his hand but cast a wary glance at Santiago before continuing. “And that depends on what you heard.”

The man lets out a hearty laugh. “I can see why he wanted us to meet. Quick on your feet in a medical emergency and beautiful and funny, too.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and when I dart a look at Santiago, a prominent vein bulges alongside his temple while he glares at the doctor.

Each subsequent word is ground out from between his clenched teeth. “I wanted you to meet and go over your assessment of Miss Arias’s work on Andro.”

Santiago’s tone evicts the lighthearted quality from the older man’s demeanor, and the doctor’s features turn sober.

“Ah, yes. I was impressed with your handiwork. Your sutures were precise and clean and”—his dark gray brows veer together—“your use of cayenne pepper surprised me.

“Once I consulted with a few colleagues who’d worked alongside some indigenous healers, however, I learned this is often used in emergencies and for healing.” He dips his chin in a nod of reverence. “Well done, Miss Arias. Well done.”

I shift uncomfortably. “Thank you.”

“Do you mind if I ask where you studied previously?”

The intensity of Santiago’s scrutiny acts like a thousand-pound weight atop my shoulders. “I’ve only volunteered at a vet clinic and did some training in survival medicine.”

Surprise flickers across the man’s features, trailed by a hint of suspicion before rapidly disappearing. “Even more impressive.” His eyes cut briefly to Santiago. “I’ve been looking for someone to take my place once I finally retire?—”

“What’d I say about retirement talk?” Santiago intertwines a thread of affection with an unmistakable threat like only he can.

Doc shakes his head with a chuckle. “I’m not immortal, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.” Santiago clasps the other man’s shoulder. “Now, why don’t you tell Miss Arias what else you found intriguin’ about her work on Andro?”

Alarm bells sound in my head at Santiago’s choice of words. When the doctor’s attention rests on me, however, his expression remains placid. Almost too calm.

“I noticed you chose a running subcuticular suture. It’s impressive.” His eyes narrow with suspicion, his tone cautious. “Especially when Santiago mentioned how quickly you performed the suture.”

Ohshit. My brain scrambles for the best way to handle this. I decide to deploy some truth in my response. “One of the vets gave me a book on all the different types of sutures.” With what I hope is a shy smile, I add, “Being the nerd I am, I studied it in depth.”

“Ah, I see.” He nods slowly, a polite smile gracing his lips, but his eyes give me the impression he doesn’t miss much. “Well, it’s impressive all the same.”

“Thank you.”

When he turns his sharp gaze to Santiago, relief barrels through me. “I’ll check back on Andro again before I leave.”

Santiago dips his chin. “Let me know if there’re any concerns.”

“I will.” The men shake hands before the older man addresses me a final time. “It was lovely to meet you, Miss Arias.”

“Likewise.”

The doctor excuses himself, and once his footsteps fade, I rush to escape Santiago’s presence. Before I can dart away, strong fingers encircle my wrist.

Though he’s careful not to touch my still-healing skin, his touch is nevertheless unnerving. The callused pad of his thumb lingers over my pulse points.

When I cast a pointed glance at his hold and raise my brows, he ignores my gesture.

“I’ve gotta attend a dinner tonight.”

A long pause trails his admission, and when he says nothing more, I muster a polite, “Have fun with that.” Turning, I attempt to leave, but he doesn’t relinquish his hold.

Javier turns off the stove and rushes from the kitchen, studiously avoiding looking in our direction. Left alone, a thick, taut silence blankets us.

Santiago’s voice drops an octave from behind me, curling around me in an odd caress. “I’m supposed to say I’d like you to accompany me.”

A harsh sound climbs up my throat, and I whirl around to face him. “But you’re not planning to say that, are you?”

Even with our bodies a breath away from touching, he refuses to relinquish hold of my wrist. This close, I’m granted a view of those tiny, stern lines between his brows. The fine threading of silver at his temples seems to gleam beneath the kitchen lights while his eyes canvass my face.

My attention drops to his lips, and my traitorous mind recalls how they suctioned around my nipple. How that dark scruff framing his mouth rasped against my skin and how it felt when he kissed me. I’d never experienced a kiss like that before. The devouring, possessive kind.

When he reaches up to trace his thumb along my bottom lip, I suck in a startled breath. His voice is a coarse rasp. “Can’t figure out if your mouth is more trouble than it’s worth.”

He makes another slow sweep along my lip. “But it makes me wanna do some”—he hesitates, piquing my curiosity—“bad things.” A muscle flickers in his cheek. “Stupid shit.”

Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask—“Like what?” Dammit.

His mouth flattens, and he doesn’t immediately answer. “Makes me wanna find out if you taste as good as you did the other day.”

All breath is evicted from my lungs, inciting a searing burn when he continues in a husky murmur. “Makes me wanna do somethin’ too damn stupid for words. Like ask you to dinner.” His expression tightens with distaste. “Like I’m some fuckin’ teenager.”

His obvious aversion shocks a genuine laugh from me, and his eyes flash with interest. He tips his head to the side, his gaze scouring over my features.

Touch bordering on reverent, he slides a hand along my cheek, cradling it. The edge of his thumb lingers at the corner of my mouth. It sends a jolt through me, and my skin tingles, yearning for more of his touch.

It’s inexplicable, this inferno that blazes to life inside me with his mere proximity. When he touches me, that fire is all-encompassing, searing through me with an intoxicating heat unlike any other.

Witnessing him struggle with this invisible tether drawing us together fuels my need to stoke that fire even more. It makes me want to push him, to tempt him. Desire tightens my stomach, my craving for his touch so potent.

“Maybe you should do stupid shit—just once. As an experiment.” I clear my throat, attempting to evade and evict the haze of arousal from my voice. Firming my tone, I continue. “And see what happens when you ask instead of demand.”

A pronounced crease forms between his brows as though he’s attempting to solve a complicated puzzle. “Ask.”

The way he repeats that single word, as though it’s foreign to him, elicits another little laugh from me. His attention instantly zeroes in on my mouth, his gaze turning heated.

His jaw works as his eyes hold mine captive, voice barely an audible rumble. “Come to dinner with me.”

When I part my lips to tell him that wasn’t a question, it causes his thumb to dip inside and graze my teeth. My tongue rasps against the callused pad of his thumb, and his nostrils flare before he mutters a guttural, “Please.”

I struggle to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling with labored movements. “Why?”

A micro-expression of surprise and confusion crosses his features. “Why?” He repeats this slowly.

“Why?” I drag in a much-needed breath. “Why me?”

His gaze scrapes over me as though he’s attempting to delve beneath the surface of all my layers of defenses.

“Fuck if I know.” Spoken with more than a modicum of pissed-off revulsion, his response has my muscles returning to their tense state as I pull back. He winds my ponytail around his fist, fingers tightening to hold me in place.

Bringing his face closer, the tips of our noses brush against one another. His breath washes against my lips as he hisses, “’Cause you’re under my goddamn skin already. That’s why.”

Irrational hurt flares within me at his answer, and I attempt to draw back to spear him with my glare, but he holds firm.

“Uh-uh.” His low murmur is hoarse with underlying heat. “I know you’re feelin’ the same thing. And you gotta know it pisses me off, too.” A faint trace of a smirk touches his lips for a split second. “Knowin’ I’m not in this alone is the only consolation I get.”

All oxygen suspends in my chest as our eyes remain locked, our mouths so close his scruff gently scrapes against my skin.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” His voice is a deep, intimate rumble. “Gonna come to dinner with me?”

“I will, but only if you attend the tea party Alma planned for later today.”

Taut, like a rubber band stretched to its max, his silence reigns over us. I take advantage of it and continue. “It would mean the world to her if you did. She feels like your work is more important to you than she is.”

He edges back, gaze spearing mine. “She said that?”

“Basically.” Scowling at him, I add, “And don’t pretend you didn’t hear any of that, because we both know you have your creepy surveillance everywhere.”

Those fingers still threaded in my hair flex. “If I do, you’ll come to dinner with me?”

I hesitate, knowing I’m voluntarily edging farther inside the devil’s lair. “Yes.”

I’m doing this for Alma because she deserves a father who makes time for her. One who makes her feel like she doesn’t have to compete against his work to get his attention.

Santiago studies me for a long moment before giving a slow nod. “Deal.” His attention drops to my mouth. “But we gotta finalize it.”

Before I can make sense of his remark, his mouth collides with mine in a kiss that steals my breath along with the last shred of control I’ve been holding on to. It spurs to life that unsettling fluttery sensation in the pit of my stomach.

When his tongue delves inside, tasting me in a way that makes my panties grow damp, a surge of obstinance drives me to try and push him to lose control.

With both hands clutching the front of his shirt, I rise to my toes and fit my mouth more securely to his to deepen the kiss. His groan vibrates against my lips for a millisecond before he fists my hair even tighter. Cupping my ass in his other hand, he hauls me even closer, our bodies flush against one another.

His hard length pressed against me is a clear indication of just how affected he is by the kiss. By me. Our tongues glide against one another, and I match him stroke for stroke.

I barely register when I’m lifted and my ass is planted on the kitchen island a moment later. I’m in a haze, lost to the dangerous enchantment this man possesses.

He fits himself between my thighs, his fingers now threaded in my hair and undoubtedly messing up my ponytail. Fueled by a burning desperation to yank him closer, I fist his shirt tighter, arching into him.

He uses his hold on my hair to tilt my head exactly how he wants, ensuring he’s not simply kissing me but acting as a marauder of my mouth.

“Ahem.” A man clears his throat somewhere behind him, and we shudder to a stop. A deep growl of disapproval rumbles from Santiago’s chest.

His hand slides from my hair to linger at my hip. With our mouths a breath apart, my chest heaves, and it’s a small consolation to see the labored rise and fall of his own.

His heated gaze threatens to singe me to my core. Gordo calls out, his voice steady but with an urgent undertone. “Sorry to interrupt, boss, but somethin’ important’s come up.”

I drag my eyes from Santiago to discover Gordo standing in the wide kitchen entrance—with his back to us, thankfully.

“Be right there.” Santiago’s response is coated with arousal. The edges of his lips tug upward before he lowers his voice to a ragged whisper. “Gonna have to let me go first.”

It takes a moment to realize my legs have somehow wrapped themselves around the back of his thighs and my hands still firmly grip his shirt. Fiery-hot embarrassment heats my cheeks, and I abruptly release him.

He straightens, easing away from me. His gaze ensnares mine as he adjusts himself with a slight grimace. “After all this, it’s gonna be hard not to think about you when I’m supposed to be workin’.”

The words slip out before I realize it. “That’s not all that’s hard.”

Surprise lights up his features, and that mouth that makes me feel too many dangerous things curves upward. The slightest hint of a genuine grin has a sensation of butterflies erupting low in my stomach.

Those tiny lines fanning from the outer edges of his eyes become more prominent. “See you later, Miss Arias.”

I lift my chin a notch before reminding him, “At the tea party.”

“At the tea party first.” He lowers his head, his lips glossing over mine as he whispers, “Then you’re mine for the night.”

“I only agreed to dinner.”

Eyes gleaming at the hint of a challenge, smug determination crosses his features. “I got a feelin’ I can persuade you.”

Without another word, he strides from the kitchen, and he and Gordo disappear down the hall.

Regardless of what just transpired—or what may happen in days to come—I can’t forget that Santiago and I are enemies.

One of the most valuable lessons I ever learned was to never underestimate my enemy.

Because my very life depends upon it.