Page 9 of LA King

Against my better judgment and all logical reasoning, I melt into his kiss, letting him devour my mouth with his expert tongue as his hand glides down my back and onto my ass. A lightning bolt of pleasure shoots through my body when he squeezes it hard. I should be annoyed. Enraged even. But all I can think about is how good it all feels. When he pulls back, I gasp, my cheeks heating with both shame and desire.

I want more.

So much more.

Then I remember his mom is sitting right here, and the fire in my cheeks burns hotter. Self-conscious, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear before I pluck up the nerve to face her.

She laughs softly and shrugs. “Montoya men are very passionate.”

“Lo siento, Mamá.” Alejandro retakes his seat, keeping one hand on my shoulder. The heat from his touch burns me up from the inside.

“No need to apologize. Your Alana is a beautiful woman, son. I’m glad that you’ve finally found someone to share your life with. I was starting to worry about you.”

He takes her hand in his free one and kisses it tenderly. “You never have to worry about me, Mamá.”

Maria beams at us both. “Well, now that you have Alana to love you, I will certainly worry less.”

Despite the guilt I feel for lying to this lovely woman who clearly adores her son, happiness lights up my chest. This is fake, and I know that, but I can’t help wondering what it would be like if it were real. And I suppose Maria believing that her son is happy and in love brings her comfort, especially when she lives a few hours away from him.

“I’ll look after him, Maria. I promise.” In this moment, I mean it.

Alejandro Montoya has let his guard down with me today, and although it doesn’t change who he is or the threats he made to my father, I cannot stop myself from seeing, and liking, the humanity in him.

Even when he is a devil, he’s still just a man, and a part of me can’t help but like the glimpses of the one I saw today.

Chapter

Seven

Alejandro

Ikiss my mother on the cheek and close the car door behind her. She refused my offer to stay for the night, wanting to visit an old friend while she’s in LA. She also made it clear that she had no desire to intrude on the newlyweds.

The irony of that isn’t lost on me. Truth is Alana and I got along much better with my mother here—even if it was all a show for her benefit.

I head back into the house and look for Alana. Whatever my opinion of my new wife, she did a good job convincing my mother that this thing between the two of us is real, and I’m grateful. However, I do wonder how much it’s going to cost me to repay that particular favor.

I find her in the kitchen helping Magda clear the dishes from our late lunch. They’re laughing at something but stop when they see me. Annoyance prickles beneath my skin. Not because I particularly care what they were laughing about, but Alana has never laughed with me like that, and for a reason completely unknown to me, it pisses me off.

Perhaps they’re simply rehashing my mother’s tales of my misspent youth. Magda has worked for my family since I was a child, so they weren’t new to her. But it was clear how much delight Alana took in listening to my mamá’s stories.

“I’ll just go and fetch the glasses from the garden.” Magda excuses herself and leaves Alana and me alone.

I stride across the kitchen, and she watches me with those huge brown eyes of hers.

“Thank you for today.” The words want to stick in my throat. Showing gratitude is not a natural response for me.

“Pardon?” She cups her hand around her ear in an exaggerated fashion, pretending she didn’t hear what I said.

Can she not just accept my thanks and smile sweetly, like I’ve seen her do countless times when she was interviewed on TV? But she’s getting much bolder around me, and I don’t yet know if that’s good or bad. But it definitely makes these exchanges more interesting. “You heard me,” I tell her. “You have my mamá completely fooled. She loves you.”

“Well, I’m actually quite lovable,” she says with a smirk. “Your mom obviously has very good taste.”

I snort and stuff my hands in my pockets, not wanting to admit that her assessment may well be spot on. Ordinarily, my mother is an excellent judge of character, and if she adores Alana so much after only a few hours in her company, then my new wife is either a much better actress than I pegged her for, or I have her all wrong. My ego leads me to believe the former.

Alana tilts her head and studies me for a few seconds before she speaks again. “Well, your mamá is lovely,” she finally says. “I really enjoyed visiting with her. It’s a shame she had to leave so soon.”

Abruptly, she turns to look out the window, but I’m sure I saw tears in her eyes.