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Rip looked around. The apartment was cozy, decorated in bright hues of yellow and red, from what he could tell in the dim light. The furniture was modern but not ostentatious. “I like this place.”
“Yeah, I do too. After the divorce, it was nice to have my own space,” Lela said. “I preferred downtown, and being close to everything. And this apartment has a great view—not that we’ll be looking out the windows while we’re here.”
Rip got up and walked over to a table with several framed photographs. He picked one up. “Your parents?”
Lela stood beside him. “Yes, that’s my father Franco. He was a good cop…and a wonderful father. I think you would have liked him.”
“I’m sure I would have.” He looked at Lela. “You have your father’s eyes.”
Lela touched the glass over the picture. “And that’s my mother Mariana.” She leaned against Rip. “You’ll meet her. I know she’ll want to personally thank you for saving me.”
“I’d like that.”
Later that night, Rip slept in Lela’s bed beside her. He made love to her in the darkness, feeling his way. Lela muffled her cries of pleasure. Rip tenderly caressed her, not knowing what the next day would bring. And she expressed her desire in a quiet yet passionate way.
