When Lies Unfold

Chapter 55

It’s late,and I’m a colossal idiot. That’s the only excuse I have for lingering in the kitchen this late, my cup of tea almost empty.

I’ve ruminated over this all day. Who is the real Santiago Hernández? I’d thought him to be a criminal, simple as that. But he’s the furthest thing from simple. I continue to discover one new layer of his after the next.

The man who initially held me at gunpoint in that house is the same man who rescued a young girl from a nightmare of an existence.

He’s the same man who looked at her with love in his eyes when she spoke to him this morning.

He carried me to his bed last night and didn’t do anything. Hell…he let me gravitate toward him at some point and snuggle against him without a single complaint. All he did this morning was give me a quick kiss and tell me to wait for him.

He’s a narco. A murderer. And yet he’s managed to make me see the other sides of him. The loving father. The nurturer. The fierce protector.

The passionate lover.

He’s gone from being the biggest threat in my life to my greatest source of comfort. But to entertain the idea that there could ever be anything real between us is just…pure idiocy. It’s far too risky. Even if I were to be with a non-criminal, with someone like Nando, my past will always be there to haunt me.

Now, alone in the quiet confines of the kitchen since Javier’s already excused himself for the night, my thoughts remain in turmoil. Though the lights are dimmed in the kitchen, casting me in shadows, I yearn for the darkness and unique brand of anonymity the jungle provides. The sense of peace and safety that comes from feeling as though I’m invisible.

Seated at the table with both hands wrapped around my cup, I stare down at the meager brown liquid at the bottom as if it holds the answers to my dilemma.

If only it did.

Heavy footsteps sound along the tile floor, and my head snaps up, my body electrified with awareness. The steps grow closer, each footfall steady and determined.

With my eyes trained on the doorway, I can’t deny the spark of excitement at seeing him stride into the kitchen. A hint of cruelty lines his mouth while the dim kitchen lights emphasize the stern angles of his face.

Raw magnetism radiates off him, but a fissure of unease races through me when he advances on me, his expression fierce and foreboding.

I scramble out of my seat but instantly regret the move. In my bare feet, his imposing form towers over me more than usual.

He stops in front of me, his eyes snapping with fury as they bore into mine. His words are clipped, his jaw so tight I fear it might shatter at any moment. “He kissed you.”

My brows draw together in confusion. “What?” What the hell is he talking about?

Features stamped with ferocity, his muscles taut with barely banked rage, he grinds out the words, “He. Kissed. You.”

It finally dawns on me, and a healthy amount of my unease ebbs. “Oh. Well…yes. That unfortunately happened.”

Tense lines bracket his mouth as he clenches his fists at his sides. “He dared to put his fuckin’ mouth on you.”

As I peer up at his thunderous expression, it’s now that I notice his ponytail is mussed. This is completely out of character for him.

As my eyes travel over him, his shirt appears a bit wrinkled, but when I notice his busted knuckles, I gasp.

“What happened?” My alarmed gaze flies to his as I take his right hand in both of mine, cradling it gently to inspect his injuries. “We need to get these cleaned up.” When I attempt to take his other hand to look it over more closely, he draws it away.

His eyes glitter with dark intensity, anchoring mine in place, while the threat in his voice feels dangerously tangible. “Did you kiss him back?”

I gape at him, because…that’s what this is about? “Did you punch Nando?”

A muscle in his cheek flickers wildly, his brows in a deep V. He cages me in against the table, and this time, he doesn’t phrase it as a question so much as a demand. “Did. You. Kiss. Him. Back.”

A small, rebellious part of me wants to challenge him, but the rational part senses he’s on the edge. That this isn’t the time to test his limits. It doesn’t mean I don’t deserve an answer of my own, however. “Does it matter?”

My question hangs between us as I search his features for any indication of his feelings. Am I just a passing fascination? The need for this answer is all-encompassing.

Malevolence rolls off him in oppressive waves as he leans in closer. My nerves pull taut as he forces me to tip my chin higher to meet his gaze. “It matters a whole fuckin’ lot.”

Shockwaves ripple through me, but on its heels comes a torrent of pleasure at his response. Itmatters means that I matter in some way. “Did you punch him for kissing me?”

“Fuck, yeah, I did.” His answer is quick, with zero hesitation. “You’re not his to kiss.”

Those five simple words serve as a confession. He’s laying claim to me. Breath I didn’t realize I was holding whooshes out. “Whose am I, then?”

Brutal sensuality etches his features, unadulterated male possessiveness suffused in his voice. “Mine.” His eyes narrow even more, growing squinty. “Gonna answer me now? Did you fuckin’ kiss him back?”

“Here’s your answer.” My fingers clutch his button-down as I lift to my toes and fuse my mouth to his. The instant our lips meet, pleasure blasts through me like a shockwave.

He doesn’t offer an ounce of hesitation but simply cups the back of my head in one hand while his other molds over my ass. He gives a firm tug, and our bodies mash together, all of my soft curves against his firm muscles.

His mouth works over mine in a desperate, near-violent kiss. It’s as though he’s attempting to evict any remaining trace I might have of Nando’s kiss on my lips. He ravages my mouth with long, savoring licks while his fingers fist in my hair.

Movements rough, he jerks his mouth off mine with an abruptness that catches me by surprise. Voice unyielding like steel, in it, hunger mingles with challenge. “Gotta hear you say it.”

It feels as though fate is encouraging me to throw caution to the wind. There must be a reason why our paths collided. Even if it was solely to grant me a breath of reprieve from my mundane but safe existence, I know all too well how life isn’t guaranteed.

There’s a chance I’ll regret this later, but if I don’t give in to whatever this is between us, I’ll regret it even more.

The fingers of the palm he has on my ass tighten in warning when I don’t immediately volunteer a response.

With my eyes, I trace the sharp edges of his cheekbones, his stern brows, and the curve of his lips framed by his dark scruff. I want to memorize how he looks in this moment, tuck it away for the future, and remind myself of how a man should look at a woman.

Like she’s his everything.

Those black eyes blaze, but it’s the trace of uncertainty in them that compels my words to spill out. “I didn’t kiss him back.”

Relief washes over his features before scorching heat reignites in his gaze. A hint of challenge enters his expression. “Why not?” He lowers his face to mine, his hot, minty breath dancing across my skin. With each word, his mouth dusts against mine. “Is it ’cause of me?”

I nip at his bottom lip, relishing in his low hiss. “Would you’ve kissed Keyna back?”

He rears back, and for a breath-stalling moment, I fear his answer. That fear thickens, escalating to a sick churning in my stomach, when his lips twitch into a smirk.

Shit. Why did I say that? I should’ve never?—

My thoughts are interrupted when he lowers his face to mine, his smile turning molten. “Keyna who?”

It’s those two words that irrevocably slay me. They soothe the bruises, fill in the cracks, and smooth out the dents of my weary and battered heart.

Our mouths collide in a kiss that has me clutching at him with near desperation. Emotions twist and knot themselves inside me, but I ignore them, giving myself over to the heady sensations of his mouth as it slants over mine, his tongue diving deeper. That hot, needy pull in my core that only he’s been able to bring to life.

My hands sweep down from his shoulders to where his shirt’s tucked into his pants. Filled with desperation and impatience, I tug at the fabric, my fingers fumbling with his belt. When his hands cover mine, stopping me, my eyes flash open in alarm.

Mouth against mine, he delivers a soft kiss between words. “The idea of bendin’ you over this table is temptin’—no doubt—but I got other plans for you.”

I smile against his lips. “What kind of plans?”

Taking my hand in his, he walks backward, leading me toward the hallway. My heart stalls in my chest at his expression, because desire blends with what appears to be heated affection.

“The kind where you’re not allowed to leave my room for a while.”

His uncharacteristically playful tone pulls a little laugh from me. “Is that so?”

He pauses, hauling me close, cradling my face in his other hand. Dragging his thumb over my bottom lip, his eyes track the motion, and his next words rob me of all ability to breathe.

“If I had my way, I’d never let you leave.”