Chapter 9
Evelyn
Silvery blue eyes burn into my soul. Warmth blooms beneath the surface of my skin, and those eyes trail over every inch of my body, caressing me like the lick of a sensual flame. His full lips tilt in an arrogant smirk, as though he knows exactly how his intense gaze affects me.
Long fingers trail along my collarbone, sweeping my hair over my shoulder so that he can explore my neck. He tests my racing pulse, and his white teeth flash in a wicked grin.
The effect is stunning, knocking the air from my chest. Electricity crackles along my skin, arcing between us to create a sizzling connection. Little sparks ping over my bare flesh, the sensation almost too intense to bear.
An answering spark dances between my legs, and my core heats.
His fingers trail lower, brushing the line of my sternum as he traces a lazy path down my body. My breasts feel full and achy, and my nipples throb in time with my clit, desperate for his merciful touch.
He looms over me, his sharp smile taunting as he caresses the curve of my breasts without touching me where I need it most. I whine and arch toward his hands, but he eludes me with a low chuckle.
The slightly cruel sound rumbles through me, a vibration between my legs.
My thighs grow slick: a strange, new sensation.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment at my wanton reaction, but I can’t break from his burning gaze. His pupils dilate, darkening with desire that matches my own.
One hand continues teasing around my breasts, a maddening touch. His other lifts to cup my cheek, his thumb hooking below my jaw. He holds me as though I’m made of porcelain and tips my head back, so I’m locked in his fiery stare.
The sheer masculine perfection of his sculpted face is nearly unbearable to behold, his proximity arousing me to the edge of pain.
“Please…”
Is that my breathy plea? I don’t recognize my own voice in that sultry tone.
“Evelyn…”
I shudder at the raw need imbued in that one word: my name rasped in his low, masculine rumble.
My lips part to sigh his name in return, wanting to savor the shape of it on my tongue.
But no sound issues from my throat except for my heavy, panting breaths.
I don’t know his name.
I don’t know anything about this dark, beautiful stranger who holds me with such aching tenderness, setting my body alight with the barest brush of his masterful hands.
My eyes snap open, and I blink several times as I struggle to adjust to reality. The familiar shadows of the cramped bedroom I share with George coalesce around me.
George. My fiancé.
My insides twist. I was dreaming about the handsome stranger who saved me tonight, not the man I’m supposed to marry.
And my thighs are still wet with the very real arousal I felt in my dirty dream: a sensation I’ve never experienced when I have sex with George.
I turn to face him, intending to snuggle into his sleeping form and reassure myself that I’m right where I belong: with the man I loved.
His pillow is cool beside me. I’m alone in our bed.
“George?” I murmur.
He doesn’t reply.
I roll over and reach for my phone to check the time. It’s still dark outside. Surely, he hasn’t already left for work?
1:27 AM.
“George?” I call out for him, loud enough that he’ll hear me if he’s in the living room or kitchen.
No reply. The apartment is silent, the only sounds coming from the street outside.
It’s fairly quiet at this time, but the occasional car passes, and I hear masculine voices in what sounds like an argument. The tone of one of the voices is familiar, even though I can’t understand the words.
George is outside for some reason. Is one of his coworkers in trouble? I noticed that more than one of the agents had been fairly tipsy when we left the bar, and they ordered more drinks as we said our goodbyes.
It’s considerate of George to keep the conversation outside so that he wouldn’t disturb me, but if someone needs help—a place to crash or even just a glass of water to sober up—they’re welcome to come into our apartment.
I get out of bed and grab one of George’s big shirts to slip on over my thin camisole.
My nipples are still hard from my illicit dream, and I need to hide the evidence of my traitorous subconscious.
I decide that my silky pink pajama shorts cover me enough to step outside for a moment and invite his coworkers in.
I quickly slip on my sneakers, not bothering to tie the laces properly before I hurry to join George.
The voices become clearer as I rush down the short internal corridor toward the exit to the street. They’re speaking in English, but I note the familiar Spanish accent in the way some of the others’ voices lilt.
Odd. Most of George’s fellow agents are Americans here in Mexico City, on similar assignments.
I shake the moment of confusion away, recalling that he works in tandem with local law enforcement. A couple of cops had been at the bar with us tonight.
“I want my money,” I overhear as I exit the building.
That’s George’s voice: an angry snap that I always dread in an argument.
My steps slow. If he’s in the middle of something more heated than a drunken misunderstanding, maybe I shouldn’t interfere. All I have to do is step around the corner to join them in the quieter alley, away from the traffic on the main road.
But it sounds like I might be very unwelcome.
And what money is George talking about? I know he likes to make casual bets with his friends, but I can’t imagine him being so angry about a few dollars.
“The boss isn’t happy,” a stranger’s voice replies, cooler than George’s heated tone. “You’re not delivering on your end of the agreement.”
“Your rivals almost killed my fiancée. If I’d tried to save her, they would’ve killed me too. You’re lucky I’m still willing to work with you at all. I’m risking my neck to do you favors. You owe me.”
My stomach churns as my thoughts slow, sticky like honey. I can’t process what he’s saying.
“We don’t owe you shit,” another man spits.
“I arrested three of Duarte’s men for you,” George insists, terse and impatient.
“That’s just doing your fucking job with the feds,” the first stranger bites out. “Your boss is still investigating us. Half a dozen of us were killed in a raid last week. Where were you then?”
“I was in the hospital with my fiancée,” George shoots back. “I could’ve been in the ground if Duarte’s men had managed to get to me too. I’m still willing to do business with you. We can still have a profitable relationship.”
My throat constricts with horror, the meaning of his words finally sinking in.
George is working with these men, these criminals.
They’re talking about the monsters who kidnapped me: their rivals.
And George had known who took me all along.
He’d said he needed me to tell him that information so that he could arrest the men responsible, but he knew they were Duarte’s associates.
If I’d tried to save her, they would’ve killed me too.
Now, he’s demanding money from these men—these cartel members, Duarte’s rivals. He’s demanding a bribe.
I shake my head, as though I can toss away all knowledge of this awful conversation.
No. This isn’t right. George is a good man. He must be working undercover.
He must be. The alternative is too terrible to bear.
I take a step back, reeling. The shoelaces I hadn’t bothered to tie properly tangle around my feet, and a shocked squeak escapes my tight chest as I fall.
A hulking stranger whips around the corner, his eyes narrowing on me where I lay sprawled on the warm pavement. George appears beside him, and a third man lurks at their backs.
My fiancé’s eyes widen as he takes me in, his mouth going slack with horror for a moment. Then, his lips press into a thin, disapproving line that I recognize all too well. My stomach sinks at the sight of it, a familiar dread that accompanies his censure.
“You shouldn’t be out here, Evie,” he rebukes.
He doesn’t make a move to help me up; he simply glowers down at me.
I lick my dry lips, and my attention flicks to the two dangerous men who are half-hidden in the shadow of the alley.
“What’s happening?” I ask in a fearful whisper. “Who are they?”
But I know. They work for a cartel. And George had said…
One of the cartel members trains a gun on my heart.
It doesn’t have time to skip a beat before a massive shadow slams into him.
A gunshot cracks through the night air like a whip, and I try to scramble back, instinctively seeking cover.
My palms scrape on the concrete, but I don’t manage to shuffle more than a few inches before the shadowy form of a beastly man blocks my view, looming over me.
I can’t force the necessary air into my chest to release a scream.
Sprinting footfalls slap against the ground, making a quick retreat.
The shadow above me shifts, moving with swift, brutal grace. The man who’d turned the gun on me is no longer visible, but there’s another gunshot. My protective shadow lets out an animal snarl, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears into the dark alley.
A choked sound of protest catches in my throat, and I reach out as though I can somehow drag him away from the danger.
A sharp scream emanates from the alley before it’s cut short.
Another set of sprinting footsteps, and I glimpse a second shadowy form running away from the fight.
For a few fleeting seconds, all I can hear is a tinny ringing in my ears and the heavy, sawing sound of my gasping breaths.
Deep in my bones, I know who fought off the man who’d tried to kill me. I’d recognized that massive, shadowy form, even from behind. The streetlights had shined on the glossy black curls that was dreaming about.
I heave out a relieved breath when he appears at the mouth of the alley, stunning blue eyes piercing the darkness to find mine. My thoughts are scrambled, disjointed. Everything is too much to process: George’s traitorous conversation, having a gun trained on my heart, and the swift, brutal fight.
George. Where is he?
The alley is silent behind my savior. Someone had screamed…
“George.” I manage to squeak his name as I struggle to stand.
My savior’s eyes narrow, his square jaw ticking. “He ran.”
Strong arms close around me, lifting me as though I weigh nothing. The scent of leather and amber enfolds me, and I find myself tucked close against his broad chest.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, but I don’t struggle. I trust this dark stranger—he just saved my life.
I can’t untangle my thoughts to wonder how he’s here at the right time. The vague notion that he might work with the DEA flits around the edges of my mind. He was at the bar, after all.
But fear still drenches my senses, sapping my ability to think clearly.
“I’m getting you out of here,” he rumbles in reply. “They might have friends nearby.”
He carries me across the street in a few long, sure strides. A motorcycle waits at the curb, and he carefully sets me down so that I’m straddling the seat. A helmet lowers over my head.
I don’t protest. My heart slams against my ribcage, everything in me driving me to flight. So, I allow the stranger to help me. He’s protected me twice now. He jumped in front of a bullet for me.
He must work with law enforcement to be so coolheaded in the face of mortal danger. He’ll take me somewhere safe, probably the police station. George will meet us there. Maybe my instincts were wrong. He might be working undercover.
He ran, the stranger had said.
The sound of those retreating footsteps echoes through my mind, and I shake them away.
George must have pursued the man who fled the scene. He wouldn’t just leave me when an armed criminal was threatening my life.
If I’d tried to save her, they would’ve killed me too.
The memory of his awful frown and the cold disapproval in his eyes fill my mind, the terrible moment playing over and over again in a sickening loop. The two men in the alley with him work for the cartel. One of them had pulled a gun on me, and George had done nothing.
My tangled thoughts consume me, but my savior doesn’t seem afflicted by the same distractions.
“Hold on to me,” he barks over the sound of the growling engine.
My arms wrap around him, and my fingers knot in his soft cotton shirt.
I mold my body tightly against his back, clinging to him like he’s my lifeline.
He tenses as I squeeze his ribs, and his chest rumbles on a low grunt.
The half-feral sound is swallowed by the roar of the motorcycle as we speed off into the night.
We wind our way through the city, dodging traffic far too fast on the busier streets.
I shut my eyes tight, but the dark stranger seems calm and confident, his breathing only hitching slightly when we make a particularly jarring swerve.
The fear that’s making my heart work overtime doesn’t seem to affect him, even though he risked his life to save mine.
And George…
He ran.
I swallow against the acid that burns my throat. I lean into the beautiful stranger, instinctively seeking his protection once again.