18. Eve
18
EVE
“ T ell me something about yourself and I’ll stop asking, I swear it.”
“Be truthful, Eve. You’re far too inquisitive to stop at a single question.”
“Try me.”
He smirks and eases out of me, rolling onto his back and folding his arm between his head and the pillow. I feel his loss immediately. I should have kept my mouth shut. He’s too glorious to surrender when he’s relaxed like this. Every tan, muscular inch of him is dominating this bed, his stubble has darkened, and his hair is a damp, disheveled mess.
We’ve been naked like this since yesterday morning, for over twenty-four hours now. It’s like we’ve cocooned ourselves against the world, our warring realities, and my conscience. Nothing can break us, so long as we never leave this bed .
“Just your surname then,” I prompt. “I can’t keep calling you Dante ‘The Enigma’ forever.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s an improvement.”
“Give me something, anything… please .” My frustration is spilling over the brim. “I feel like I’m constantly stumbling around in the dark with you.”
“Calm yourself. Why must you be so persistent?”
He’s laughing at me. I can tell. I’ve never once seen this man smile, but I’ve learned to read the inflections in his tone.
“It’s not fair. You know everything about me, and I know next to nothing about you.”
“Don’t pout. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Along with sarcasm, swearing, and whatever else doesn’t meet Mr. Dante ‘The Enigma’s’ tick box criteria for women.” I’m feeling mad as hell as I sit up and wrap the white sheet around my body. If he’s denying me his full name, I’ll deny him the pleasure of my body again.
“What else is on this list?” he says, reaching over to push a lock of my hair away from my face. It’s a conciliatory gesture, and I’m momentarily sidetracked by the tenderness in his touch.
“What list?”
“This criteria for women you speak of.”
“It’s a figure of speech,” I say in exasperation. “Didn’t they teach you stuff like that at your fancy American college?”
“I learned how to drink warm beer and fuck women. The idiosyncrasies of the English language may have escaped my attention.”
“Tell me about your scars then,” I say, running my finger along the ugly blemish staining his rib cage. “Did you anger the wrong woman, or the wrong cartel?”
“If I said the former, would you be jealous?”
“I’d feel respect more than anything else. You’re not easy to wound.”
“I’m not easy to catch, and I never fight fair when I am.” He rears up and presses his lips against mine, catching me off guard. Stunning me with his magnetism until I’m pulling away, breathing hard.
“Is that why you hide away in Africa?”
He sinks back down to the bed with a groan. “I don’t hide away from anyone. I’m strategic as to where I conduct my business from.”
“But you’re a mercenary. You go where the business is. You’re a rent-a-kill for the cartels.”
There’s a pause. “And you came to this conclusion, how?”
“Am I wrong?”
“Hush, Eve. You’re spoiling for a fight again, and I have no wish to give you one.”
“But am I wrong?”
“Afghanistan,” he says abruptly. “That’s where I got the scar.”
“ Afghanistan? ” I’m shocked by his honesty. I had a hunch he may have served in the military somewhere, but I never expected him to confirm it. “What were you doing out there? Where were you based?”
His cell starts beeping. Ignoring my question, he reads the incoming message and frowns. I watch him swing his long legs out of bed.
“Who is it?”
“Someone blowing up the rent-a-kill hotline,” he drawls.
I wish it was a joke. I wish so many things were different between us. I kneel behind him and slide my arms around his neck, pressing my breasts again the burning skin of his back, filling my nostrils with his rich scent—the one I’d drown in if I could.
He turns his cell screen away so I can’t read the message over his shoulder.
“It must have been quite a change for you,” I say, dropping my arms. “Demoting yourself from such an honorable profession to such an unprincipled one.”
“The lines are never as clear cut as you think.” He slaps his cell back down on the nightstand. He seems distracted. Angry…
“I’d hardly call the narcotics industry—”
“Drop it,” he says sharply, standing up and pulling on his jeans.
“Dante—”
“Take a shower and get dressed.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t ask twice, and because I want to show you something.”
He takes my arm as we exit the house and steers me in the direction of the black Ferrari parked in the driveway. His cell beeps twice more, but he ignores it both times.
“This is quite a set of wheels,” I say, arching my eyebrows at him as he opens the passenger door for me.
“Impressed?”
“Nope. Fast cars have never turned me on. They always strike me as an over-compensation for something.”
“The devil is in the detail, my angel.” He crouches down beside me as I swivel into the seat. “Have you seen how wide that hood is? Right now, I want nothing more than to bend you over it, kick your legs apart and fill you up with my cock.”
Bam! There’s an instant reaction in my core. I stare at him, speechless, squeezing the tops of my thighs together to dull the beat. Dirty talk was never my thing before I met him. Now, I can’t get enough.
“I’m sure your men would enjoy the show.”
The playful gleam is gone in an instant, replaced with something far, far darker. “For my eyes only, Eve Miller.”
He rises to his feet and slams the door so hard it makes the whole car rattle. I watch him warily as he makes his way around to his side and falls in next to me. His own door receives much the same treatment.
“This car suits you,” I blurt out, trying to ease the tension.
“How so?”
“It emphasizes the whole dangerous vibe. You make men like the Santiagos look like accountants.”
His hands convulse around the steering wheel.
“Better swap it for a fucking sedan, then,” he muses darkly. “We can’t have any reminders of them .”
He could swap it for a Honda, and he’d still put the fear of God into me.
Will he ever slip up about his business dealings with them? He never mentions the Santiagos unless I do. I know he suspects I have ulterior motives for all my questions. I see his men training, and I hear the continuous noise of gunfire from his shooting range, but that’s it. Maybe this place belongs to them.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. I’ll never be able to find it again. I have no location coordinates, nothing. Is it west…east? There must be thousands of private estates like these off the coast of Africa.
“Are you still taking your antimalarials?” he demands suddenly.
How does he do that? How does he always seem to know which direction my brain is heading?
I nod.
“Any side effects?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He flicks a switch and the powerful engine roars into life. The vibrations start pulsating up through my seat, escalating the drama between my legs. Maybe I’m coming around to fast cars, after all.
“Where are you taking me?”
“You wanted to see more of my compound, my angel.” He eases off the clutch and the car starts to roll forward.
“Why do you call me that?” I ask curiously. “I’m no angel, Dante. I’ve done things in my life that are undeserving of that endearment. Things I’m not proud of.” I think about Ryan and then about his former housemaid, Valentina.
Without warning, he slams on the brakes, pitching me forward into the dashboard. The edges of the seatbelt slice like blades into my shoulder.
“Isn’t it obvious?” He turns to face me, his brown eyes blazing. “You’re the light to my darkness, Eve. You’re the one good, true thing in my life that hasn’t been broken or corrupted by this whole fucking business.”
I’m stunned by his declaration. I’m mesmerized by the passion in his voice. How can a man like him produce words of such depth and honesty? That’s when I see the whisper-thin rays of sunshine breaking through the rain clouds. This man isn’t as depraved as he thinks he is. There’s a light in the shadows. There’s goodness in him somewhere. I can sense it.
“I think you’re doing a pretty good job of corrupting me all by yourself,” I say shakily.
“That’s different. I’m awakening something in you… Something that’s been there all along.”
I’m struck by a fierce, uncontrollable hunger for him.
Before I can stop myself, I’ve unclipped my seatbelt, scrambled onto his lap and I’m smashing my lips against his. A second later, he’s kissing me back with the same violence, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, tugging up my dress and digging his fingertips into the soft flesh of my ass.
“You drive me fucking crazy, mi alma! ”
“I don’t want you to ask nicely,” I pant. “Take whatever you want from me. I need you to corrupt me.”
His hands are everywhere. They’re tearing at my clothes, grasping my breasts, yanking my head to one side to deepen our connection.
“I’ve never fucked in this car before…”
“Maybe it’s time to change all that.”
“You’re breaching my defenses!”
“Maybe your reactions are slowing?” I reach down to rip open his belt and zipper. He’s rock hard, and I let out a moan of lust. “Two weeks ago, I never would have gotten this close to you without a broken neck. ”
“Too many maybes… I need your certainty now.” He shreds my underwear, balling up the ruined scrap of material and tossing it onto the back seat. “Tell me you’ll never unshackle these chains that bind us.”
“Dante…”
“Say it!” He takes my jaw between his hands. He looks so powerful, so hungry, so goddamn beautiful.
“I’ll never unshackle them,” I whisper, meaning every word. We’re bound by something far greater than the sum of either one of us now.
“No matter what happens?”
“I promise.”
Some of the tension seems to leave his face. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he never gets the chance to speak. A loud banging on the roof of the car makes us both jump.
“What the hell?”
Refastening his jeans, he jerks my dress down and pivots me back to my seat as his door is wrenched open. It’s that man Grayson—the American. He’s not wearing his army fatigues today, just black jeans and a T-shirt. The color seems to match the expression on his face. He doesn’t even glance at me.
“Jesus, Dante. Where the fuck have you been?”
“Can’t it wait?”
Dante’s expression is a mask of calm, but I know that look well. A serene surface barely conceals the thunderstorm raging beneath it. Grayson must have a death wish. Dante’s nuance of violence is terrifying when he’s like this.
“I tried calling. You should learn to answer your phone once in a while. ”
I cringe into my seat and wait for the explosion. I’ve never heard anyone speak to Dante like that before.
“If this is about that fucking manifesto again…”
Grayson doesn’t even blanche. “Gomez is dead. They pulled his body from a restaurant in Cartagena last night. Sanders is off the grid.”
Dante goes very still. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Emilio keeps calling. He wants you back in South America. I presumed you’d want to leave right away. The jet’s fueling up right now.”
Who the hell is Emilio?
“Hang on a minute.” Dante jerks his head my way and switches off the engine. He exits the car, slamming the door behind him. Through the window, I watch him snap his belt together and rearrange his shirt.
I can’t hear what’s being said. Their voices are too muffled by the glass. Dante doesn’t look happy, though.
He doesn’t look happy at all.