CHAPTER 4
Imogen
Growing up, Imogen had perfected her eavesdropping technique. Living in a house where the facade of the perfect family had to be maintained, she’d learned to listen behind closed doors if she wanted to know how her parents really felt about something. That skill served her well as she crept away on silent feet from the lieutenant’s office with none of the men inside any the wiser.
If the entire cartel would be at El Jaguar’s Carnival party, she had to crash it. It would be the perfect opportunity to snoop for news of her brother. Her step grew lighter as she headed for her own set of rooms in the servant’s wing. The great thing about Carnival was the costumes.
Traditionally, the celebration represented a time when people covered their faces to deter or trick evil spirits, which meant she could hide behind a mask to conceal her identity. In a word, it was— perfecto.
Imogen was almost at her door, a sly smile on her face when a hand on her shoulder made her jump out of her skin with a squeak.
She spun around, coming face-to-face with Mat’s chest. Slapping a hand over her heart, she exclaimed, “ Ay, Dios mío !”
He’d scared her half to death. When she pulled her eyes to his gaze, he didn’t look happy, but that didn’t stop her from asking, “Why did you sneak up on me?”
Instead of answering, he cocked a brow. “Why are you walkin’ around barefoot?”
She could’ve put her shoes back on when she’d made it into the servant’s area of the house, but she wasn’t lying when she responded with a scoff, “Because my feet hurt.” He didn’t need to know what else she’d been doing in her bare feet.
“I asked you to wait in my room.”
The edge in his voice made her nervous. To hide it, she gave a deliberate shrug. “I got tired of waiting.”
“Yet you’re just now gettin’ back to the maid’s hall?” He dipped his chin at her and waited.
He was using his interrogator’s voice. That, combined with his shrewd hazel eyes searching her face, meant she had to try hard not to squirm.
“Take a little detour somewhere?” His voice fell around her like a net, tugging for information.
She’d never been able to lie to Mat and get away with it. The man was a detector when it came to her. Chewing her lip, she tried to come up with an answer that skirted the truth without being a blatant attempt at concealment.
His smile was the opposite of warm. “Whatever you’re workin’ on, you can save it, Gen.”
That raised her hackles. She didn’t appreciate the bite in his tone nor the grasp he took of her arm, no matter how gentle. “Oh, really?”
He gestured down the hall with his free hand. “Which one of these is yours?”
She tried to shake him off, but he only tightened his grip. “Why?”
His voice dropped, and she hated, yes, absolutely hated, how sexy it sounded. “Because I have things to say to you, I don’t think you want anyone knowin’.”
When he glanced up at the corner, she followed his gaze to the camera and swallowed a gulp. She was still getting used to those. The lieutenant had more surveillance than the governor of Texas, which she knew for a fact, having been a guest at the politician’s house on more than one occasion. With a defeated sigh, Imogen pointed out her room.
Mat wasted no time dragging her inside. Once the door shut behind them, he switched on the old alarm clock radio by her bed and demanded, “What’d you overhear?”
Since he’d released her arm, she put some space between them, dropping into the antique wooden chair in the corner. The room was the size of her shoe closet at home and had just enough square footage for a bed tucked up against one corner, a small dresser with a mirror, and a sitting chair.
Trying to sound like she had no clue what he was talking about, she brushed out the wrinkles in her skirt and replied, “What do you mean?”
Mat sat on the twin bed facing her. The metal frame creaked as he settled, and she couldn’t help imagining them making it squeak for a very different reason.
Not going to happen, chica.
Something was seriously wrong with her if she still lusted after the man who ripped her heart out of her chest. Who ghosted me like we hadn’t just spent the last year together.
When Mat answered, his tone didn’t change. It wasn’t quite a bark but held a calm authority, which she did not appreciate. “I know you were eavesdroppin’. I followed the trail of Black Opium from the lieutenant’s office.”
Imogen couldn’t help it; her eyes widened. She was shocked he remembered the name of her perfume. It made her wonder what else he might remember about her, and her heart squeezed a little. Pushing the longing away, she crossed her arms and said, “I told you, I’m here to find Emil.”
He let out an audible sigh. “And I told you to let me handle it. You’re gonna get yourself in trouble, Imogen.”
“I’m aware of the risks, Mateo .” Since he’d used her full name, she emphasized his.
He scrubbed at his short beard. “It’s not just your neck on the line here.”
That realization stung a little. No matter their history, she had no desire to see Mat wind up hurt or worse. “I’m sorry”—emotion flooded her voice, but she shoved it down—“I have to try.”
The muscles in his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth. “I wish you’d trust me to take care of it.”
Asking for trust from someone who disappeared on her almost made her laugh in his face. He’d given up on what they had, so how could she know he wouldn’t give up on looking for her brother?
The old anger stirred, icing her veins, and she threw back, “Why did you kiss me?”
If they were going to have any kind of relationship, even a working one, she needed to know what games he was playing.
“To avoid suspicion.”
Her face must’ve shown she didn’t understand because his voice lowered, and he added, “I heard the door openin’, and I didn’t want anyone knowin’ the real reason you were in my room.”
When she did comprehend his meaning, it was a blow to the heart. She dropped her arms with her gaze, hoping he didn’t see how much that hurt.
Estúpida!
Imogen couldn’t even be mad at him, only herself. He’d shown her that he didn’t care about her years ago. She’d been the one stupid enough to hope he’d changed his mind.
Gathering her breath and her thoughts, she made sure frost coated her voice when she finally met his gaze. “I guess, even though your clothes are different, some things never change.”
The tiniest furrow darkened his brow. “What do you mean by that?”
Instead of answering, Imogen stood. She needed him out of her space before she did something rash, like slapping him or kissing him. Her body was so mixed up she wasn’t sure which it would be. “You know what, Mat? It’s late, and I’m tired. I’d like you to leave, so I can go to sleep.”
He made a show of reclining on her bed. “I’m not goin’ anywhere ’til you answer my question.”
We’ll see about that!
Imogen strode to the door with a huff, pulling it open wide. “Have a good evening, Mateo.” Her smile was so fake it hurt.
He rose, and she nearly slumped in relief. Until he grabbed the door from her and shoved it closed.
Leaning back against it, he crossed his arms. “You can’t go to the party. You’ll be caught.”
She would’ve rolled her eyes if it hadn’t been conditioned out of her. “I can and I won’t.”
He scratched at his brow with a thumb. “Were you always this stubborn?”
“Yes, though I wouldn’t expect you to remember.” She knew it was futile, but she tried to pull the door open with him propped against it.
“I remember everythin’ ’bout you, Gen.”
His soft words stopped her struggle. Her gaze snared on his. When he started to speak, she was a fly caught in a spider’s web.
“I remember how you chew your lip when you’re thinkin’, how you put mascara on your left eye before your right, how you hate nopales ,” he dipped his lips, continuing in a sensual whisper, “how many shots of tequila it takes to get you drunk,” his mouth hovered so close to hers she could feel his breath, “how your lips taste in the mornin’,” he paused and his eyes turned wicked before he said, “the sound you make when I—”
“Stop!” Head spinning, she stumbled away from him. “Just stop!” How could he be so cruel? To tell her their kiss had meant nothing, then to rub the past in her face . . .
Tears blurred her vision, so she couldn’t clearly see his expression, but she thought a similar resounding pain echoed in his voice when he said, “Goodnight, Gen.”
The door closed with a click, and she sank into the bed. The tears broke free, leaking down her face. Curling up, she hugged her stomach and wished they weren’t so adept at hurting each other.
◆◆◆
Mateo
Mat’s chest ached. He’d think he was having some sort of attack if he didn’t know better, but he had no doubt what caused the discomfort. And she was barely five-three, maybe a hundred and ten pounds. He’d taken a punch before, but this pain was relentless. It throbbed as if someone had landed a blow in the same spot over and over. At this rate, he wasn’t sure his heart could take another beating.
He still loved Imogen.
If he didn’t, she wouldn’t have been able to hurt him so much. Maybe he shouldn’t have said those things about their past, but her cutting him off had sliced into him with all the precision of a hatchet. The jagged wounds it left behind would likely never heal. Not fully.
It seemed like every time he tried to have a conversation with her, they ended up in an argument. Which was damned difficult when they needed to keep up the charade of being in a relationship to protect her from Julio.
Damn it all to hell.
Bringing Imogen to the Carnival party—continuing the fake relationship with her—would be the best way to keep her reason for being in the lieutenant’s household under the radar.
Mat groaned as he laid back on his bed, kneading his palms into his eyes. He couldn’t help remembering the last party they’d been to together.
And how it ended.
How walking away, knowing it was the best thing for Imogen in the long run—what she’d wanted but hadn’t been able to say—had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.
As if to confirm his thought, the ache in his chest intensified, bringing him back to that party five years ago.
Mat tugged at his tie, desperate to lose the damned thing and take his first full breath in what felt like days but had only been a few hours. The charity party was winding down, and he was more than ready to grab Imogen and head home. Well, back to his place since her parent’s opulent mansion was still technically her home.
But maybe not for much longer.
He’d gone ring shopping last week and was waiting for the right moment to pop the question. Nerves made his stomach rumble, and he glanced around for Gen. She’d gotten pulled away by her mother close to a half hour ago. Not finding her among the last few people on the dance floor, Mat rose from his seat at their table.
Heading across the ballroom, he finally managed to pull the tie all the way off.
Good riddance.
He tucked the restraining device in his pocket as he moved into the hall. He was ninety-eight percent sure Imogen would say yes, but that remaining two percent made him hesitate. No matter how much she liked to buck against her family’s rules, she was a traditionalist. If he wanted her to say yes, he had to do it right and talk to her father first.
Just the thought of having a conversation with Senor Sanchez made him break out in a sweat. He swiped at his brow as his feet led him toward the family wing. Mat knew he wasn’t what her parents would’ve picked for her, but he hoped they’d respect Imogen’s decision once they saw how much he loved her.
At least they had her brother’s blessing. Emiliano was barely more than a kid in Mat’s eyes, but he and Imogen were very close. Gen cared about Emil’s opinion, and Mat enjoyed hanging out with the guy. He could be a hothead, but she had a way of calming her brother down. Mat didn’t mind Emil’s occasional outburst. In a family that rarely showed what they really felt, he found Emiliano refreshing. Imogen probably did, too. Mat knew she enjoyed being herself with him, but whenever she was within these walls, it was as if she wore a mask.
Mat frowned. He wanted to whisk her away like a knight rescuing the princess from the tower. With him, she’d never have to be anyone but who she wanted to be.
As he neared her father’s study, the sound of raised voices made his steps falter. Surprise rolled through him; he’d never heard the Sanchez family be anything but calm and polite.
“That is preposterous, Imogen!” Senora Sanchez’s voice rang out, shrill with anger.
The heavy wooden door was cracked, but he hesitated, unsure he should barge into a family argument.
Senor Sanchez sounded calm in opposition to his wife. He was a man used to having his word followed. “Your mother is right, Imogen. You know we disapprove of you seeing him. You brought him here tonight to upset us.”
Mat’s breath seized. Are they talking about me?
He could see Imogen through the door where she stood, arms crossed as she faced her parents. “You’re right, papá. That was my whole aim in bringing Mat here.”
Mat stumbled back a step. Imogen’s words fell like stones sinking into his stomach. He didn’t appreciate being a tool she used to get back at her family.
A chair scraped, and something slammed, like hands coming down on a desk—hard. Imogen flinched. Despite her using him, Mat was ready to intervene. Because he loved her. He wasn’t about to let her be badgered on his account.
Before he made it to the door, Senor Sanchez spoke. His voice boomed with authority and a hint of anger. “This rebellion has gone on long enough. Break things off with the campesino, or I’ll pull the funding for your community shelter project.”
Imogen gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“I can, and I will. Don’t test me, hija.”
Frustration and outrage colored Gen’s voice. “You’d punish all those women and children to keep me under your thumb?”
“Really, Imogen! That’s hardly what your father is doing.” Senora Sanchez came into view, advancing on Imogen as if to grip her shoulders, but Gen shrugged her away. “You know very well how our world works, and Mateo doesn’t belong in it.” She reached out to stroke Imogen’s hair. “It’s time to grow up, mijita.”
Mat had gone well past the point of accidentally overhearing this conversation. He’d advanced to full-blown eavesdropping, and—big surprise—he wasn’t happy about what he’d heard. Being the wedge stuck between Imogen and her parents didn’t sit well with him. He’d grown up without family and didn’t want Imogen to lose hers, no matter what they thought of him.
Not only that, but he knew how strongly she felt about helping Latino women who’d been abused. It was how they’d met. She volunteered with the local hospital as a translator, and he’d been there to question a woman who’d suffered domestic violence. He still remembered Gen’s wide brown eyes when she realized he didn’t need her help. Or so he thought. Even though he spoke Spanish, the woman had preferred to talk through Imogen, wary of men who looked like him.
Imogen wanted to give those women a place to escape to, to start over, without fear of reprisal. She’d spent over a year drumming up funding for bilingual women’s shelters across the state. They were about to break ground on the inaugural one, and Mat couldn’t be the reason all that work fell through.
Those stones in his stomach turned to lead weights.
If he loved Imogen, he had to let her go.
“Am I understood, Imogen?” Her father’s sharp demand made Mat blink, pulling his thoughts back to the moment.
Imogen scoffed. “As always, senor. I know Mat doesn’t fit in this world.”
Her agreement stung like a slap, but Gen was right; he’d never fit in at this level of society where charity balls, political dinners, and high-class functions were the norm. He’d never played a polo match in his life, and he didn’t expect to start now. Even if he did conquer the class divide, he couldn’t change his background. He was a bastard. An orphan. A man without a name or dollar signs sufficient enough to ever meet the Sanchez’s approval. He’d been a fool to think her father would give his blessing to propose.
If Mat asked Imogen to marry him, she’d be forced to choose. Him or her family.
I can’t do that to her.
The discussion continued, but the words faded into mere noise as he turned away. His heart split in two, and what was left of it remained too battered to stay and listen any longer. He wouldn’t let Imogen sacrifice what she was passionate about to be with him. Even if she wanted to at first, she’d probably end up resenting him for it.
Imogen knew he didn’t belong in her world. It was time he accepted that because the hard truth was they had no future together. Not that he could see.
It was time to let her go.
Mat stared up at the dark wood beams on his bedroom ceiling. His chest constricted, and it felt like they’d fallen, crushing him under their weight. He might’ve been the one to walk away five years ago, but it was for the best.
Even if it hurt to remind himself of that.