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“Did you give the order?” she counters, and I can imagine her arched brow and the drumming of nails atop the wheelchair’s arm. “Am I being shipped off next, too?”
“Mamita, I had nothing to do with that. I swear.” Lies. All lies, and she knows this. Her huff over the line tells me as much, but at the moment I’m left with few options. With Quintero Jr. coming into power as the next Colombian president, we’re on the defensive. Their family hates ours, and the feeling is mutual. “Listen, come and visit me here and see for yourself how well I’m living. Even cook me a meal or two?”
“That’s the second time you mention food.”
“Just miss yours.”
“No.” There’s a pause between us, the silence heavy right before she sighs. “I love you, Javiercito. Love you more than my own life, but I need you to accept something. I was born in Colombia and I’ll die here...that family nor their hijueputa obsession with mine will send me running.”
“One week?” It’s a compromise. The parking garage is up ahead and I walk toward it, ignoring the passersby and the one lady in her fifties that sends me a wink.
“Three days.”
Pausing at the Asher garage entrance, I look up toward the sky. “Five, and—” I’m cut off by the sudden bump to my side and the sharp pain at my hip. The hit isn’t hard, but I do lose my balance and end up staring at the car’s owner with my front bent over and hands splayed over the hood, phone still caught between ear and shoulder.
Her eyes dance with mirth.
Her lips quirk up into a devilish grin.
Mariah’s the epitome of trouble and simply asks me to move out of her way with the flick of her wrist. The action is meant to be condescending, but I catch the sly lick of her lips when I bite my own.
I’m not mad. Not at all.
She hit me with her car, and I’m hard. Throbbing.
Get out of my way, she mouths, and I shake my head. She’s revving the engine, and I grin.
“Javier! Mijo!” Mom’s voice gets louder with each unanswered call of my name, and it’s the worry in her tone that pulls me back from lustful thoughts. It’s enough to make me stand and move to the side—to give the beautiful little criminal a bow as she stops and lowers her window beside me.
“You might want to take care of that. It looks painful?” She’s not the least bit worried about her actions or the fact I’m going to be bruised where her sports car met my flesh. No, her eyes devour me where I stand and the heat behind her hooded stare is thrilling. More satisfying than every throat I’ve slit.
“I will.” My voice is rough and my cock flexes behind my zipper. “You have a good night.”
“You, too.” Her brows furrow and lips pout at my dismissal, driving past me when I don’t say anything else.
But now isn’t the time. Not yet.
I’m going to confuse and overwhelm and then conquer Mariah. I’m going to own and enjoy her.
“Que fue eso?” Mom asks in my ear, and I laugh at the simple yet arduous question: what was that?
“That was your future daughter-in-law hitting me with her car.”
She gasps, the sound a mixture of excitement and awe. “What did you say?”
“I met someone crazier than me.” And I’m infatuated after one encounter. Crazy but true, and yet, I’m following my gut on this one. Something is driving me toward her, and I’ll let it.
“Give me a month or two and I’ll come.”
“Now you want to come. Wait…why so long?”
“One, yes. And two, none of your business.”
“What are you up to, woman? Do I need to call Alejandro?”
A loud giggle comes through her end of the line and I smile. “Quit it and send me a picture of this beautiful, crazy girl.”
“I’m still calling.”
