Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Liana
Frankie and I have wandered deeper into the gardens, away from the main paths where families and their sticky-fingered kids cluster around the big, flashy displays.
Here, it’s quiet…intimate even. Just me and him in a desert that’s somehow more alive at night.
I never thought it could be this beautiful.
“It’s so different at night,” I murmur, dragging my fingers along a string of tiny blue lights. “Almost magical.”
Frankie makes a sound in his throat that might be agreement, but doesn’t speak.
He’s been off and on all evening. It’s like he’s here, but he’s not really present.
I can see him watching me with those unreadable eyes every time he thinks I’m not looking but the second I catch him, he looks away with his jaw clenched tight.
We turn a corner and I’m hit with a wall of white.
There’s a small garden area, glowing under spotlights.
At the center are these tall plants with trumpet-shaped flowers, white as bone with their petals flaring out like stars against the night.
The flowers look almost radioactive in the moonlight.
They are so perfect looking I want to touch them just to see if they’re real.
As I continue to stare at them, something clicks in my brain.
“Hey, isn’t this just like your tattoo?” I point to the white flower inked on his neck…the one I’ve been sneaking glances at all night.
His hand flies up to his neck and I watch as his fingers brush over the tattoo like he’s trying to hide it. His eyes meet mine for a second before he looks away.
“Could be,” he says with a shrug, already moving past like it’s nothing.
He’s acting so nonchalant, like I haven’t just found something important. I frown, watching his back as he moves past me.
‘Liar.’
I know it as sure as I know my own name. That flower matters to him. It means something. I lean over to read the little sign at the edge of the display and the words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Sacred Datura (Datura wrightii).
Datura. That’s what he called me that day in his office, when I walked in on him touching himself.
Little Datura. He’d said it as if it was something appalling or at least that’s how it sounded to me.
Did I misunderstand him? Because he keeps calling me that nickname and now I’m more confused than ever.
My heart starts pounding as I straighten up, eyes glued to Frankie’s back. He’s stopped a few yards ahead, pretending to check out another plant, but his shoulders are tense. He’s waiting to see if I’ll ask more questions.
I walk toward him with my mind racing. What does it mean that he has this flower tattooed on his skin? What does it mean that he calls me by its name?
“Frankie,” I say when I reach him, my voice coming out more even than I expect. “What does datura mean in your language?”
He doesn’t look at me.
“It’s just a flower.”
“Bullshit.”
His eyes widen at my small outburst and satisfaction pulses through me.
“You called me that. Little Datura. Why?”
His jaw tightens, and for a second I think he’ll stonewall me like he normally does. I’m fully prepared for him to go silent, but instead, he turns, and the look in his eyes nearly knocks me flat. There’s heat there, yeah, but also something darker. Something dangerous…
“In Italy it means a poison. Is that what you think of me?” I press.
“It’s poisonous,” he finally says. “Every part of it. Beautiful, but deadly if you don’t know how to handle it.”
A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the night air. It has to do with the fact that his body has moved closer to mine. So close, I feel like he’s suddenly consuming my entire being.
“I’m a poison to you?”
“You are so much more than that, little Datura,” he whispers, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.
There it is…lust. I can see it in his eyes and I don’t want to miss this chance. I don’t want to wonder what it would be like to choose something for myself, for once in my life. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his.
For a second, he freezes. I’m about to pull away, mortified, when his hands clamp down on my waist so tightly, I might have bruises in the morning.
He growls, a real, actual growl, and yanks me against him, crushing me to his chest. His mouth takes mine with a hunger that makes my head spin and my toes curl.
This isn’t like any kiss I’ve ever imagined.
Not even my books could prepare me for this.
It’s raw and consuming. His lips are firm but soft, moving against mine with a confidence that leaves no room for doubt. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, instinct takes over and I open for him.
The first slide of his tongue against mine sends a shock through my whole body, pooling low in my belly.
I’ve read about this…the way a kiss can melt you from the inside out, but nothing I’ve read comes close to the real thing. This is so much more….so much better.
My hands clutch his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle under the thin cotton of his shirt.
His skin burns hot, even through the fabric.
One of his hands slide up my back, tangling in my hair and pulling…
tilting my head so he can kiss me deeper.
The other hand presses into my lower back, holding me so tight I can feel every hard line of his body.
Every. Hard. Line. I feel exactly how much he wants me and it sends a thrill through my body.
I’m drowning in the taste of him, the scrape of stubble against my chin and the heat of his breath. My knees go weak, but it doesn’t matter because he’s holding me up, like I weigh nothing. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. This is what I’ve been missing. I don’t think I want to go back.
When he finally pulls back, I’m literally gasping for air and his eyes have a wild look in them. His pupils are blown so wide there’s barely any color left and I watch as his chest heaves, matching my own desperate breathing.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, panic rising as I spot movement behind him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Confusion flickers across his face, then something like hurt.
He turns, following my gaze, and his whole body goes rigid.
Two men stand about thirty feet away, watching us with blank faces.
They’re cartel…they must be. I can see the bulge of weapons under their jackets.
One has a scar running from temple to jaw.
The other is built like a linebacker, his shirt straining at the shoulders.
Frankie’s arm wraps around my waist. It looks casual, but it feels anything but. It feels protective, maybe even possessive.
“Come on,” he says, voice light and neutral, but fake as hell. “It’s getting late.”
He hustles me out of the gardens, neither of us saying a word until we’re locked in the SUV with the engine running.
“Those are Rio’s men too, aren’t they?” I ask, my voice sounding small as we sit in the dark.
His hands tighten on the wheel, showing off the bruises on his knuckles that never seem to go away.
“Yes.”
“Do you think they’ll tell him what we did?” My stomach twists. “Will you be okay? I’ll tell him it was all me…that I started it.”
He glances at me with surprise before his face softens, just a little.
“It’s not what you think,” he says, pulling out of the lot. “They’re just doing their job.”
“Their job is spying on me?” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“Their job is keeping you safe.” His tone is flat and unreadable. “There are…complications…that you don’t understand.”
“I thought your job was to keep me safe. I just…I wanted my first kiss to be special and they ruined it.”
“That was your first?” Frankie laughs as he looks at me with shock written all over his face.
My cheeks immediately go up in flames.
“Was it that bad?” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.
A half-smile tugs at his mouth before he answers.
“No, actually. Quite the opposite.”
His words make my stomach flutter, and I have to look away so he doesn’t see how much it affects me.
Internally, I’m giddy and jumping for joy.
This man thinks the kiss we just shared…
my first kiss…was good. The car pulls out and speeds along the empty highway, headlights slicing through the dark as I mull over the situation.
“Well, it doesn’t matter because it can’t ever happen again,” I say, trying to sound tough even though my lips are still tingling. “I don’t want to put you in danger.”
And even as I say it, I’m lost in the memory of it, wishing it could happen over and over again.
The heat of his body, the pressure of his hands, the taste of him…
my thighs press together involuntarily. He doesn’t respond and we drive in silence, but I can feel him watching me at every stoplight.
The tension in the car is so thick it makes it hard to breathe.
By the time we pull through the estate gates, I’ve rehearsed a dozen ways to ask what this means. He never responded. Did I think he would? Did I want him to argue? What are we to each other? Still, I don’t ask any of it out loud.
We walk to the house side by side, close enough that our hands brush, sending sparks up my arm every time. At the door, he stops and turns to face me.
“Thank you for taking me to the gardens,” I blurt out. “It was beautiful. I’m glad I got to see it.”
He studies my face while I wait for him to say something…anything to acknowledge what happened between us. Instead, he leans down and kisses my forehead, his lips barely brushing my skin, like I’m back to being a child again.
“Goodnight, little Datura,” he says as he opens the door and gestures for me to walk inside. Then he walks away, disappearing down the forbidden hallway, leaving me alone in the foyer.
Anger and confusion…maybe even hurt, course through my body.
I touch my fingers to my forehead, trying to figure out what just happened.
Was that his way of closing the door? Or opening one?
The kiss felt like both a promise and a goodbye, and I don’t know which one to believe. Am I imagining all of this?
I trudge up to my room with my mind spinning. He kissed me back though. God, did he kiss me back…but then he pulled away. He brought me to see beautiful things, then left me standing alone afterward. He calls me by the name of a deadly flower, but touches me like I’m something precious.
In my bathroom, I stare at my reflection. My lips are still swollen and my cheeks are flushed. Do I look different? Older or more mature? Did kissing him change me? I roll my eyes at my ridiculous thoughts. Of course it didn’t.
“What are you doing, Liana?” I whisper out loud. “You’re engaged to another man.”
But thinking about Rio, a faceless stranger who bought me like property, doesn’t make me feel anything. I don’t feel fear or excitement. I don’t feel anything anymore. Just emptiness.
Frankie, though…He makes me feel like I’m burning up from the inside out.
I splash cold water on my face and crawl into bed, but sleep won’t come.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel his hands on my waist and his mouth on mine.
I toss and turn for at least an hour, twisting the sheets around me, until finally I give up and grab one of my new books.
The words blur together as I attempt to read but my mind is too full of Frankie to care about anyone else’s story. After what feels like many more hours, I finally doze off just as dawn breaks, the book open on my chest, dreaming of poisonous flowers and tattooed hands.