Page 62 of Savage Saint

Around one forty-five, we leave the spa and walk to the resort bistro, where the hostess seats us near the window overlooking the water. The place is bright and airy with white walls, light wooden tables, and a large woven pendant light hanging from the ceiling. Tropical plants fill the corners, real ones, giving the space a clean and modern, yet relaxed feel.

Katia orders a cappuccino.

Tatiana gets an iced latte.

“And I’ll take a morir soñando for me, please,” I tell the waitress, who smiles and walks away as I relax into my chair. The thing is hand-carved, and the chair cushion is tufted, soft enough that I immediately sink back into the plush tan fabric with a sigh. “This was a good idea.”

“I always have good ideas. Plus, it’s payback for your ninja coffee-stealing services.”

Tati snorts. “You also convinced us to do dress-like-sexy-inmates-who-escaped, almost got us arrested, too.”

“Good times.”

“You’re always the instigator,” I sing-song, picking up my drink as soon as the waitress drops it off. It’s cold and creamy, sweet orange blending with milk over ice until it tastes almost like an orange creamsicle in a glass. “Such a troublemaker.”

“But brunch is on me today. That should count for something.”

The waitress clears her throat, and that’s when I feel it…

A heated stare. Demanding I turn and look.

And I do.

Leather vest. Sharp jaw. Honey-colored eyes.

“…your bill has been taken care of.”

14

SAINT

I’ve been sitting here long enough for my coffee to go from hot to almost cold.

Not that it matters.

The small pastry beside it is half eaten, more something to justify occupying a table than hunger. I’ve been waiting since one thirty, just early enough to be seated and watch her come in, and when the three women walk into the resort bistro, my eyes immediately find her.

Nurse Genesis Romero.

They come in laughing, each one holding their hands out in front of them, admiring whatever had been done at the spa. Genesis looks down at hers nails twice before they sit, turning one hand beneath a skylight, highlighting the design.

I take all of her in.

Her hands are white, her toes matching beneath the gold sandals she’s wearing. There’s some kind of small design on two fingers—looks like a flower, maybe petals—but I’m not close enough to make out the details.

Still, I look. Memorize everything I missed the day I took her.

From the small mole at the corner of her right eyebrow, and how her lower lip is bigger than the top. How her navel is pierced. There’s a tattoo just below her right shoulder, very small, but looks like a sunflower from where I’m sitting.

And I want to be closer. Can’t deny the urge I have to lick it. Her.

“She’s beautiful.” I catalog the way her cream pants move around her legs when she walks, how the fitted top hugs her breasts—how soft the skin of her bare arms appears to be. Simple makeup. Her curls are loose today, long and dark around her shoulders while falling down her back.

No effort needed.

Genesis doesn’t see me when she sits; I prefer it that way. For now.

I continue to nurse my black coffee and listen without appearing to. Two tables behind them is close enough to catch most of the conversation when the restaurant isn’t loud, and her friends aren’t exactly quiet.