Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Alana
It’s been a little more than two weeks since our charade of a wedding, and for the most part, Alejandro stays out of my way, and that’s exactly how I like it. Only twice in all that time has he slept in the house, and on both occasions, he insisted on sleeping completely naked.
The first time he stayed here, I was terrified to go to sleep in case he tried to take advantage of me, but after a few hours of me lying there watching him, it became perfectly clear that he had absolutely no intention of doing so.
I’m not exactly his type, am I? The women he’s photographed with are typically blonds with minimal curves. Once I realized that he has no desire for me at all, I was unable to quell my innate curiosity, and I lifted the covers for a peek of him while he was asleep.
And sweet Jesus, I wasn’t disappointed. He may be the devil incarnate, but he has the body of a god.
And his morning wood is a sight to behold, equally terrifying and spectacular.
He’s a work of art, and I can understand why half the women in LA are after him—although they probably don’t realize what an arrogant, evil asshole he is.
Alejandro slept at home last night too, and I awoke in the early hours of the morning with my hand on his chest. I was mortified to think that he might have felt my hand on his cool skin and terrified that might make him think I wanted him.
Which I don’t. Hot body aside, he’s still a cruel, ruthless mob boss who’s holding my father’s freedom for ransom.
I should have moved my hand immediately and scooted back over to my side of the bed, but I was too transfixed by his firm muscles as his chest rose and fell under my fingertips.
Then I found myself wondering if the muscles in his stomach are as deliciously perfect as his chest, and to my shame, I actually contemplated sliding my hand down farther to check it out for myself.
As I lay there watching him and touching his skin, I felt a stirring between my thighs that built into a painful throbbing. The kind that made me realize I needed to stop touching him and go back to sleep.
Of course, I wasn’t able to get back to sleep after that.
My body was alive with nervous sexual energy, and I was scared that I’d wake up with my whole body draped over him instead of only my hand.
I can just imagine the arrogant look on his face if that ever happens.
So I got up early and watched TV in the den.
I’m sitting in the kitchen, sipping coffee from the fresh pot I made, when he saunters in wearing only his boxer briefs. My eyes are drawn to his groin of their own volition, and a hint of a smirk curves his lips.
I turn away to avoid looking at him any more than I already have. Asshole.
“Buenos días, princesa,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
I roll my eyes and spin back to face him. He’s taken to calling me princess because he thinks it annoys me, which it does, but I’m not going to let him know that.
“Morning.” I force a smile. “There’s fresh coffee if you’re interested.”
“You made coffee?” He lifts an eyebrow. “I thought Magda took care of that?”
I shrug. “Well, sometimes she does, but I was up first.”
He eyes me suspiciously, and my skin prickles. What the hell is wrong with him? Does he think I poisoned his coffee or something? Although, actually, there’s a thought … My lips twitch, but I fight the urge to let the grin take hold.
“My mamá is visiting today,” he says, pouring himself a mug of the hot, dark liquid. “She just got back from her cruise and is eager to meet my wife.”
I eye him over the rim of my coffee mug. He hasn’t spoken to me about his mother before, or about much of anything at all. “Oh?” is all I say, unsure what he expects my reaction to be.
He crosses the kitchen in two strides and stands so close that I can smell his cologne from last night, and my insides melt like warm butter.
“I hope it goes without saying that I expect you to be on your best behavior while she’s here.”
My gaze moves over his face, over the light dusting of dark stubble across his jawline, before landing on his dark brown eyes, which are blazing with fire.
Damn. Why does he always have to look so enticing? Surely that’s the only reason my body responds to him of its own accord, completely ignoring my rational brain when he’s in such close proximity. I place my hand on the back of my neck to try and cool my flushed skin, but it does nothing.
Still, I maintain at least an air of a calm facade. I’m a politician’s daughter, after all, and I know how to mask my emotions. “Of course,” I say, fluttering my eyelashes. “Best behavior.”
He scowls. “I’m not playing, Alana. My mother thinks our marriage is for real. She thinks we’re in love, and it would break her heart if she were to discover the truth.”
I blink at him. Why does she think that? And does the king of LA have a weak spot? His mother? It might be sweet if he weren’t who he is.
“Understand me?” His voice is as smooth as chocolate, rich and warm, like a caress over my skin. How quickly he can switch from menacing to persuasive is frightening.
“Yes. Okay,” I agree.
“Thank you,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine. And if I’m not mistaken, it sounds like he means it.
Suddenly, the devil seems a little more human than he did before.