Page 63 of Secrets of the Six

I release her and immediately regret it.

She quickly smooths her skirt and does her best to reclaim her decency. Without thinking about it I stretch my hand toward her face and gently tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear. When our eyes meet this time, there's no flare of wicked intentions. There's a suppressed longing and it cleaves my blackened heart in two. If I wasn't committed to my people and a plan we'd spent a lifetime plotting, I would toss all inhibitions to the wind and claim her here in this closet. I crave to feel her, to hear my name on her lips, to watch her lose control and use her rage to fuel our passion.

Instead, I take one step away from her, since that's all the tiny closet will permit, and say, "If you need me – "

"You're a glance away."

As if I didn't just ravage her moments ago, Ines peeks out the curtains and with the hallway clear, she slips out and trots back to her side of the auditorium.

I do the same and march to my booth, wishing we could stay in the closet longer. I finger through my hair, fixing whatever she messed up and open the drapes to saunter to my seat. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help myself. I glare across the auditorium and watch as Rogelio smiles at Ines. He takes her hand in his and lifts it to his lips to plant a kiss. If only he realized her hand was just caressing my body. My mouth was momentarily dragging across her hot skin.

"Is everything alright?" Rosa – no, Ramona… Raquel – fuck, I don't remember. My date smiles at me, running the tips of her finger over my hand and I force myself not to flick her from my person like an irritating fly. She hasn't done anything to deserve my ire. My cranky mood is due to watching the woman I desire flirt with another. It's my fault she's in the booth with him – she was hired to do exactly that, win his heart and hand.

I hate that I've mixed business and pleasure.

Chapter 22

Ines

For the duration of the opera, I feel the ghost of Remus' lips against mine, his calloused hands exploring my body, and the explosive desire to experience him fully doused by my own fear of growing too close to him. I refuse to glance across the chasm of the auditorium, afraid he's watching or worse, not watching me. I'm not ready to face him, nor am I ready to dive into what our kiss meant or what repercussions are sure to follow.

I've spent the last several weeks wondering – against all sense of reason – what he tastes like and now I know, and I desperately crave another dose. The thought of how efficient he is with his tongue sends me spiraling into a sea of lustful yearning.

As the performance finally comes to an end and everyone is on their feet applauding in adoration, I sense his eyes on me, but still, I refuse to look his way. Instead, I take the opportunity to observe the Soberano, who seems to have thoroughly enjoyed himself by the vigor in which he claps. Although he's smiling, I can't help but pick up on a sinister aura about him, like there's evil lurking just around the corner to do the Soberano's bidding. Suddenly, as if he senses my stare, he swivels his head toward me and meets my gaze. My heart thunders inside my chest. I question if I should look away or curtsey. He tips his head and grins. His acknowledgement makes my skin crawl.

Rogelio slips his hand around my waist and tugs me against him, jarring me from my thoughts and stealing me from the Soberano's direct line of sight.

"What did you think?" he asks softly with childlike excitement.

I force myself to appear aroused by his boldness in tucking me alongside him, but in all honesty, the only way the proximity is palatable is by imagining him as Remus. "It was spectacular! I hope to attend more performances in the future."

"If I have anything to say about it, you will."

One would believe Rogelio's words to be nothing more than a flirtatious empty promise, but I can sense he truly means it. He's as innocent as a lamb which I will be instructed to one day slaughter. He offers me his arm and I take it, allowing him to lead me out of his booth, past a stoic Olli standing guard in the hall, and to the foyer to await our carriage.

Although I'm not necessarily the praying type, I implore whatever Saint might be listening to have mercy on me. The last thing I need is for Remus and his date to cross our path. But I have no such favor which doesn't surprise me.

Remus and his lady friend pop up beside us. When Rogelio notices them, he smiles and tips his hat in polite greeting. There's a thick tension circulating, but perhaps the feeling is reserved only for Remus and myself. After all, less than an hour ago we were indecently tangled in a closet while our dates sat completely unaware enjoying the spectacle of the theatre.

"Don Rafael," Rogelio addresses him with forced kindness.

"Don Rogelio." He acknowledges, though his sights are shamelessly pinned on me.

"If memory serves me correctly," Rogelio tightens his hold on my arm, "it's been quite a while since you graced Teatro Castillo with your presence."

Remus chuckles and I can tell by the wicked gleam in his eyes whatever he's about to say is going to be snarky and petty. "What an intriguing mind you have, Don Rogelio, to keep track of my whereabouts." He tugs his gloves onto his hands, each finger spearing into its place. "I thought it pertinent of me to attend a performance once in a while seeing as I'm paying handsomely for a box, as you well know." He raises a finger in pause before clicking his tongue and saying, "Rather I should say, your father knows, since he's the one who pays for all your expenses."

My eyes widen. What the hell is Remus doing?

Rogelio's shoulders tense and his nostrils flare, seeing red. Remus has successfully burrowed beneath his skin. With the silent male standoff in full swing, I do the only thing I can do to diffuse the unspoken strain and squeeze Rogelio's forearm reminding him I still exist. The flare of irritation vanishes when he meets my gaze, and he relaxes.

"How incredibly rude of me." Rogelio motions toward me, his chest swells as if he's showing off his new toy to his rival. "Don Rafael, I do believe you know Señorita Elena Lozano."

I curtsey and hate how amused Remus appears with the motion.

"Of course," he brings my hand to his mouth and skims my knuckles with his lips. It takes every ounce of strength in my body not to shiver beneath his touch. "I believe we danced together at Doña Otero's ball."

And just like that, Rogelio's ego is wounded once more. How he had forgotten about our paso doble performance is beyond me, but it elicits favorable butterflies in my stomach remembering how it felt for him to hold me so intimately, as if no one else in the world existed.