Page 3 of Set Play

I need to stop this. I know I should. But fuck, I really don’t want to.

Given how famous he is and the fact that we are in public, it’s only a matter of time before someone recognizes him and turns this into breaking news.

Yet instead of pushing him away, I lift an arm to circle his neck and pull him closer. His chest rumbles with a groan, and he sinks his fingers into my hair.

Henri will understand once I explain this to him…right?

The sound of cowboy boots stomping away penetrates the bubble we’ve found ourselves in, and Mr. Big Shot pulls away with a smirk on his stupidly handsome face. Tracing my lower lip with his thumb, he whispers, “Well, Chispita. Even if he is gone, I’ll happily do that again whenever you want.”

He winks and leans in, moving slowly enough that I could stop him if I wanted, but all I can think about is how great his lips felt. How much I want to feel them again. The second kiss is sweeter, softer.

I’m about to lose myself in it, in him, when a bright flash from nearby brings us crashing back to reality.

1. Merde = shit

2. Mon dieu = My god

3. Chispita = little spark

Chapter 3

Mateo

Holding back a groan of annoyance, I reluctantly let the gorgeous spitfire step out of my arms, instantly mourning her warmth against me. She whips around to face me, hair flying into her face and eyes hazed with desire. I take the time to admire them; the color is almost hazel, but brighter.

They are enchanting.

It’s a much more satisfying look than the slightly panicked, furious recognition that flickered in them just before our lips collided. The memory confuses the hell out of me.

I mean, the recognition is understandable, but surely I misread the panic and anger. After all, I can say with complete confidence that I have never seen her before; I’d remember.

So why the fuck did she look at me like that? Wait—Does she think I’m Lukas?

It wouldn’t be the first time a woman has come up to me mistaking me for my twin. Even with the fact that his light cognac eyes are a sharp contrast to my own deep blue and our sleeve tattoos are on opposite arms, it happens far more often than either of us like.

The image of my brother’s hands on the beautiful woman in front of me makes my chest tighten in irrational jealousy.

What the hell? She’s not yours to be jealous over. Get your shit together, Mateo.

Another flash bursts somewhere nearby, pouring a cold deluge over us. Blinking the haze clear from her eyes, she starts scanning the crowd for the source.

After several minutes of searching for anyone taking pictures or videos, we both come up empty. Damnit. My hand comes up to run through my tousled curls, an anxious tic I have always had, as I heave out a sigh.

Looking down at her, I notice signs that she’s fighting her own rising anxiety. Knuckles tightly clenched yet trembling, chest rising and falling frantically, eyes racing around the room. I can practically feel the tension vibrating off of her as she shifts from foot to foot.

Okay, time to get her out of her head and maybe out of here in general.

Without thinking, I reach out toward her but stop just shy of her shoulder. Not everyone deals with physical contact well when trapped inside their mind during times like this. My arm drops back to my side, useless, and I give her a self-deprecating smile. “I am so sorry, Chispita. No one seemed to recognize me the whole night, so I assumed I was in the clear. I shouldn’t have just made a scene and put you in this position. I’ll call my people as soon as I leave and have them try to find the photographer so we can prevent the pictures from being released. I don’t want you dragged into the public eye like that.”

Her eyes dart up to my face, but she doesn’t respond. She just stares at me, searching for something in my eyes. Whatever it is, she must find it because some of the tension in her body finally eases.

Her hands are still fisted and her breaths are shallow, but I count this as a win. Dipping her chin slightly, my Chispita’s lips curve in a soft smile completely at odds with the scoff she exhales. “Thanks, Reyes.”

Well, that confirms that she does know who I am.

“And not just for saving me from the creep that never learned the meaning of ‘no,’ but for reaching out to your team about the pictures.”

Those stunning eyes leave mine as she lowers her gaze, mumbling something to her feet. I can’t quite make out her words over the noise of the bar, but I swear I hear “would’ve been nice three years ago.” Before I can hyperfixate on figuring out what she meant, her eyes return to mine.