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His expression is one of sincere concern and I offer a small smile back, a different feeling taking over me. It flutters, feels like a thousand and one butterflies dancing within, and I melt back into my seat. Not just because of the magnificent orgasm he gave me, but because he came here with the intent to talk—keep total honesty between us—and that’s something I appreciate.
He’s proving day by day to be everything his reputation preceeds and so much more. Javier Lucas is everything I find attractive, and my walls crumble with each look, that gentle way his eyes sweep over me with affection so sweet I can’t fight against it.
After a few beats of silence, I give him the same honesty back. “It’s a lot to take in, Javi.”
“Are you upset about the nature of their relationship?” There’s a hint of jealousy there, some tensing of his muscles, but I won’t call him out on it.
“Not in the least.” There’s no hesitation from me and he nods, relaxing back a bit. “But I am curious here…”
“That’s all I know, Mariah. Do I have the file? Yes.” Figured as much. Getting information on anyone is just a matter of time and connections. “However, I haven’t read it. I’m waiting for you to fill in the blanks.”
“Thank you.”
“You deserve my respect.”
Again, my heart thumps harshly at his words. My smile widens. “Then my next question is how much time do you have to give?”
His scent surrounds me, his shirt keeping me warm and I inhale deeply, taking him into my lungs and holding it there. There’s a yearning within me that I can’t control. He makes me forget the past and live for the present.
Really live. Want the more I’ve been running from.
“My entire life.”
My eyes close at those three simple words and the heavy implication behind them. “That’s a long time, Javi. Are you sure?”
“I am.” Now he is the one without hesitation. His conviction makes me happy until I remember the topic of conversation and the earlier surprise left outside my door. My brows furrow as my mind runs and coincidences don’t seem so innocent. Mildred. “What is it?”
Something tells me what I’m about to say will piss him off, but if he’s honest with me, then I’ll always return the favor.
“Earlier tonight, I received a bouquet of roses.” Javier’s hands clench at my words, but he nods for me to carry on. I meet his stare and keep it there. “They were left outside the door, black from the flowers to the vase, and without a note.”
“Hijueputa,” he grits out, and I won’t deny that hearing him swear in Spanish is a turn-on. Javier doesn’t do it often, speak in his native tongue, but I wish he would. It also makes me want to find ways to provoke it.
Bend me over and call me your little doll.
And had someone else spoken to me the way he does, I’d have knocked out a tooth or ten by now, but with him, it’s not demeaning. It feels warm. Full of this sweetness that makes my core clench whenever he calls me his Muñeca.
“Are you paying attention, Muñeca?”
The always-present tingles spread, and I fight the need to whimper. I’m still sensitive. Feel the slight burn from his five o’clock shadow on my inner thighs.
Dear God, please help me get it together. This isn’t the time to give in to temptation. Amen.
“What was the question?”
He tsks, but there’s no real annoyance in his features. Instead, there’s a hint of a smirk. As if he knows where my mind has been. “When did the flowers appear, Mariah?”
With a sheepish grin, I shrug. No denying it. “A little before I pulled my dinner from the oven. I was sitting right where you are now, looking at the early evening sky when a knock came. They didn’t ring the doorbell but knocked hard instead.”
“So it should be on the doorbell recorder?”
“It should.” Why didn’t I think of that? Hard to think with his mouth between your thighs. “Let me grab my phone. Be right back.” I’m rushing to the kitchen before the words finish leaving my lips. I need a moment to collect myself. To gain a bit of decorum.
This isn’t the time to be anything but what I am: an Asher.
Opening the faucet, I grab a paper towel and dip it under the water before squeezing off the excess and running the dampness over my heated neck, my cheeks, and lower across the top of my breasts. The coolness feels good, but his shirt on me smells of him and it isn’t helping me control my libido.
He’s woodsy scents mixed with a hint of cigar and heavy liquor. He’s sex and danger, and I’m sniffing the collar and abandoning the paper towel, closing my eyes to enjoy the moment. The thoughts and images running through my mind are of him on his knees—worshipping me—but the reel quickly morphs to another fantasy.
