Hit Man: A Sexy Action-Packed Alpha Adventure Romance Page 18

  What’s hidden beneath the cotton material I remember all too well. Her figure is made for a man like me, full tits, tight ass, sweet-as-fuck pussy. Small, responsive. Hot for me, my touch, my tongue, my cock.

  Maybe that’s why she’s kept the towel instead of putting on the clothing I left on the bed? I feel myself grow hard.

  I’m a shallow guy. But the truth is, I’ve suddenly and quite unexpectedly realized I’m not simply attracted to her physically—which I am. I keep thinking about her, the feisty woman on the inside. What makes her tick? What’s at the heart of her?

  She’s whip-smart, despite being naive. And like my mama, the only woman besides my sister I ever loved wholeheartedly and without condition, Aubrey is a do-gooder.

  A beautiful, intelligent, naive do-gooder.

  Trouble. Straight-up trouble. Might as well shoot me right now.

  I love women, no denying it. Yet I’ve been a cutthroat both in and out of the bedroom. I don’t do clingy. I don’t do cuddles and kisses. I don’t do relationships. Sex is what you get, but I can promise you’ll love it. I’m the kind of guy who leaves women behind. What other choice do I have, right? In my profession, relationships leave you vulnerable.

  And, above all else, I don’t do do-gooders. Period. Exclamation point.

  A lesson in vulnerability I learned the day my parents were doing just that, do-gooder work in the local market. Until they were gunned down during a gang initiation.

  The following week, I killed the three fuckers responsible as well as their gang leader, Hector Rodriguez. It was either run or fight. Except when word got out, I couldn’t avoid the other gangs looking for killers to recruit. No isn’t exactly a word they’re used to hearing. It was my sister who tracked down Hayden and convinced him to save me. She’s the only person I know who can tell that bastard to go fuck himself and still remain standing. I’d never felt more relieved than the day I dragged her into a helicopter and hauled her kicking and screaming away from Mexicali . . . and him.

  There’s no one who’ll be saving me from his wrath.

  One night. Then it’s bye-bye, chava.

  “We’ll eat, relax, sleep.” Without waiting for her response, I stalk across the white wooden floorboards to the long breakfast bar dividing the living space from the kitchen area.

  A woman comes in every day to stock the refrigerator and keep the place in pristine condition. Hayden’s set her up in an apartment within the same building so she’s always at my beck and call. A simple ring and there’s a fresh roll of toilet paper or whatever else I need.

  But what I’m most thankful for is she fulfills my special request that two flank steaks are always marinating in chimichurri inside a bowl in the refrigerator. Ready to grill and be eaten. I might be part Mexican but I’m a global guy with global taste buds working for a global security contracting agency. Though Argentinian steak is my weakness, the more traditional Mexican carne asada is my second go-to meat.

  With a press of a button, I fire up the state-of-the-art grill. Next I open a bottle of Malbec. I pour two glasses and gesture for her to come and sit.

  She moves across the room, quiet for a change, as she comes to stand beside me. She smells like my soap. She smells . . . like me.

  “Are you grilling for me?” she asks with a brilliant smile.

  I blink as a wave of lust hits me hard. Man, I want her. I might even want her more than this expensive glass of wine or my favorite steak.

  What the fuck is happening to me?

  “You hungry?” she asks shyly. Probably seeing something pass across my face. My attention catches on the second word, softening the h and drawing it out like an invitation to fuck. Hungry.

  My gray sweatpants pull uncomfortably tight. You bet I’m hungry.

  Wine, sex, steak, it is.

  It takes all of my willpower to say, “Relax.” I pull out a barstool and tap the cushion with my hand. “Drink up. One chimichurri steak coming your way.”

  “Why are you suddenly being so nice to me?”

  “I’m always nice when I have time to eat.” Rather than halfway to hell knows where and grabbing what I can on the way.

  She shifts onto the barstool, the towel snagging on the woven rattan weave then sliding up her thigh.

  I force myself to walk away. Retrieve the marinated steaks out of the refrigerator and set the large glass bowl down on the counter near the grill.

  “Who are you, really?” I hear her ask.

  I’ve been expecting this. I move around, removing two potatoes from the refrigerator, rinsing them off in the sink, then wrapping them in tinfoil and placing them on the grill.

  “No one.”

  She snorts. “For no one, you’re living in a beautifully designed, well-thought-out apartment.”

  I grin. She’s too damn smart for her own good.

  “You’re not a drug dealer?”

  I stiffen and turn to glare at her. “You asked me that before and the answer hasn’t changed.”

  She shrugs, unfazed by the harshness in my tone. “I’m trying to understand why a man who’d risk his neck to help me, who is passionate about . . . everything . . . would be hanging around with a murderer like Juan Carlos?”

  “I work in security.”

  “Like a bodyguard?”

  “In a sense. More like society’s bodyguard.”

  She sighs. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  She sits up straighter on the barstool.

  Nope. Not going to drop it.

  “What was inside that crate?” Crates. But I don’t correct her. Instead, I say in a firm voice, my tone full of warning, “A word of advice. Keep quiet and forget what you saw. You’re an innocent witness to something you don’t want to get involved in.”

  “Serious money went into the design and construction of Casa Bella. It wasn’t funded by air. Drug money? It makes sense.”

  “It does.”

  She sighs, exasperated. “So you do or don’t work for Juan Carlos?”

  “Don’t.” I turn back to the steaks so she can’t see my face. I’ve revealed too much. Yet I can’t have her believing I’m a low-life drug dealer. Bad enough I’m a killer, a hired mercenary. With good intentions, of course. Dishing out TORC’s kind of justice, the kind that sweet, naive civilians don’t want to know about yet all the same it’s what keeps them sweet and naive. “I’m not with Mendoza.”

  “Are you DEA?” she whispers.

  “Warmer.”

  “You can never give a straight answer, can you?”

  “I’m like the steak you’re about to eat. A scrapper. A cast-off no one believed could be so tasty until the Argentinians turned it into something special.” Like how Hayden turned TORC into something special.

  “Jesus, you’re comparing yourself to a hunk of meat?”

  I grin, and turn and wink at her. “A big hunk.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Come here.” I toss both steaks on the hot grill and listen to them sizzle to life. Until I feel her standing next to me.

  “You can tell a lot about a man from the steak he likes.”

  She laughs. “Right.”

  “It’s true. Think about a man who eats sirloin. What does that say about him?”

  “He’s willing to spend more money on steak?”

  “Yep. And he’s a follower, not a leader. Someone who goes along with the status quo and who believes the extra money spent means a better cut of meat. He’s a health nut, worried about getting a bit of fat, a bit of grizzle into his diet. Forsaking flavor for a finer figure.” I hitch my T-shirt up and slap my hands on my abdomen. “See what too much grizzle can do to a man?”

  Her gaze drops, her lips parting slightly. My lips twitch as she catches herself. “You’re unbelievable.”

  I wink and she shakes her head, loving every minute of it.

  “You haven’t seen unbelievable yet,” I murmur, intentionally letting a bit of a rasp bleed int
o my voice. Using the kitchen prongs, I flip both steaks. The flame sparks and the meat sizzles.

  “And T-bone steaks?”

  “A smart man. Someone who’s more particular in choosing a cut yet knows a good deal when he sees it.”

  “My father likes to grill T-bones. You describe him perfectly.” My eyebrows raise, and I’m now curious about her life, her upbringing. But she interrupts me before I can ask.

  “And I’ll have you know”—she slaps her hands against her stomach—“a little bit of fat never hurt a girl.”

  My gaze drops like I’m being treated to a glimpse of her abdomen when all that shows is the palm print of her hand on the towel.

  I raise my eyes to her face.

  She winks, audaciously. Mimicking me beautifully. Giving me a taste of my own medicine.

  Just like that, in an act so simple, so sweet and silly and charming, I know deep down in my bones, I’m a goner.

  And if that’s not bad enough, she’s . . . not done. “You”—she pokes me in the arm—“haven’t seen unbelievable yet.”

  “Dios mío,” I murmur, feeling my cock rise to attention. There’re a few rare times in my life when I felt like I was drowning. When circumstances are so thoroughly out of my comfort level, so terribly out of my control, that no matter how fast I kick and paddle and swim, the surface only grows more distant, shifting farther and farther away.

  This is one of those moments when I’m sinking, and sinking fast.

  “I don’t think you’re a scrapper steak,” she whispers, her tone taking on this deep, throaty quality that fucks with my head.

  “Why not?”

  “You not someone no one wants. A cast-off only a few curious dare try. In fact, every woman from LA to Tokyo wants a taste of you.”

  “And in Mexico City?” I ask, staring at her hard.

  And there it is—right in the middle of a conversation about steak, of all things—the fire in her eyes. Her arm brushes against mine. Her body mere inches away so that if I move, I’ll be touching her.

  I hold steady, still.

  She offers me a shy smile, and changes the subject. “What kind of cut am I?”

  She’s not a follower. She’s not fussy or self-absorbed. She’s down-to-earth. She’s genuine and . . . real.

  She’s a little bit of everything. Everything a guy like me wants . . . like, now . . .

  “Turn around,” I order.

  “Are you going to answer me?” she murmurs in protest, yet spinning around like I asked.

  I eye our dinner, cooked to perfection. With a sigh, I hit the Off button on the grill.

  “Filet mignon.”

  “I’m not that small,” she replies, glancing over her shoulder. “You’re just big.”

  “ . . . and tasty like a juicy porterhouse . . . with the texture of a finely seasoned, tenderly prepared London broil . . .”

  She groans. “I’m begging you. Please stop.”

  “With the sophistication of a flatiron,” I continue with a smile.

  “Isn’t it time we ate?”

  I pause for a few seconds, letting the silence grow between us. She’s tuned in to me and waiting. Waiting to hear what I have to say next. I give in to the temptation to touch her, and do what I’ve been dying to do since she turned around. I tap her ass with my palm, and lean into her.

  “But if I had to pick one,” I whisper in her ear, “I’d say flank steak.”

  “Flank steak?” Her head turns, her eyebrows arched.

  “I love me some flank steak.”

  Her pretty lips open and close.

  I chuckle.

  “You are touched in the head, you get that?” She moves away from me to stand by the breakfast bar. And I suddenly want to grab her, haul her up and over my shoulder, and carry her into the bedroom. Love me some flank steak while I work my lips over her ass before dipping between her thighs.

  “Flank steak,” she repeats, in a low voice.

  Dios, I should have stuck with the filet mignon.

  She glances over her shoulder and gives me such a sexually charged look, it steals my breath.

  My heart skips a beat, then another when her towel drops.

  “Diego?”

  “Eh . . . yeah?”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Diego

  “This is crazy. We don’t even like each other,” she says, nervous yet excited about what’s to come.

  “By the time I’m done with you,” I say, removing my shirt and loving the way her nostrils seem to flare at the sight of my chest, “you’re going to love me.” Quickly, I turn away from her, wincing. Dios mío, that goddamn L word slipped off of my tongue before I could swallow it back. Next I’ll be asking her to stay in Mexico City. I move past her naked form standing so stoic besides my bed, her playfulness tempered by her sudden uncertainty, to toss back the thick black comforter and roll back the top sheet. “You started this, now it’s your call.” Better hand over the power to her before I do something stupid.

  “My call.”

  “Have at it, chavita. Do whatever you want with me.”

  Her eyes flash. “Whatever I want?”

  “You heard me. Feel like tying me up? There’s rope in my bag. Want me to lick your pussy and have you come in my mouth, just say the word.”

  Her body flushes a lovely shade of pink. I resist the urge to drop to my knees and give her a wet preview.

  “Or are you in the mood for a ride? I’ll sit on the corner of the bed and you can just climb on, cowgirl.”

  She smiles.

  A naughty, naughty smile that fucks with my head. Mission accomplished, her sudden nervousness is gone as quickly as it appeared. Placing my hands on my hips, I cock my head. “Well?”

  “My word, is any woman resistant to your charms?”

  “You want me to answer that?”

  “Hell no.” She laughs again. Her eyes narrow at me and . . . dios mío, she licks her lips before ordering me about. “Take off your pants.”

  “Tell me to strip. It sounds sexier.”

  “Am I in charge or not?”

  “You are.”

  “Strip. You can get on your knees and stick out your tongue later.”

  “Now we’re talking,” I murmur. Hooking my thumbs in the waistline of my sweatpants, I hold her gaze as I work the material down my body, over my hip bones and ass, thighs, and growing erection, in a slow striptease.

  “You did the same thing when I first set eyes on you. Put your thumbs inside the elastic of your underwear before . . . stripping. . . . You caught me staring at you.”

  “I wasn’t aware company had arrived.”

  “You said you’ll do anything I want. Tell me why you were running across the lawn, barefoot and half-naked?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I felt like an impromptu jog.”

  She pulls a face. “Does it have something to do with your security work?”

  “Yes. I can’t discuss it.” I grab hold of myself and give my cock a few firm strokes. Redirecting her attention toward the business at hand and away from my assignment. She’s too smart for her own good. And the less she knows, the less questions there’ll be moving forward.

  Her gaze drops.

  Thatta girl.

  “Interpol?”

  I sigh. “Close. Even more subversive, more in the shadows. Okay?” I release my erection, fold my arms across my chest, and give her my coldest of looks. The kind that says you’ve stuck your nose too far into my business.

  She drops to her knees.

  Grabs my cock in a firm hold.

  And as she stares up at me, she takes me into her mouth.

  I feel like roaring with pleasure, yet manage a groan as she works her lips up my shaft, over the sensitive tip, before releasing me with a pop.

  “I’ve been wondering what you’d be like in my mouth.”

  “Ahuevo!”

  “What does that mean?” she asks, stickin
g out her tongue and swirling it over the bulbous head of my cock.

  “‘Hell, yeah.’”

  She grins before licking the full, hardened length of me. “Ahuevo!” she tells me, drawing me deep into her mouth.

  So bold, my lover is. So beautiful. And naughty . . . so fucking naughty. I weave my fingers through her light chestnut-colored hair, needing to touch her. I skim my thumbs across her temples, her cheekbones, shift lower to caress the few faint freckles on the outer bridge of her nose. Memorizing them with the pads of my thumbs. Storing away for later recollection the feel of her skin, her mouth, her.

  Once more, she withdraws with a pop. “You’re impossibly big, you get that?”

  “And your body responds to the slightest bit of foreplay, querida. I lick my lips and your pussy’s instantly slick for me.” I lick my lips, slowly, and am rewarded by the shudder that rocks her body.

  “I’d love nothing better than to drive my tongue inside your wet channel right now.”

  She moans.

  “You like that idea? Get up on the corner of the bed on all fours,” I order. Patience has never been forefront in my wheelhouse of skills.

  Without protest, she rises to stand, then climbs onto the mattress.

  It’s my turn to fall to my knees.

  “Spread your legs wide.”

  Her gasp is followed by her quickly following my direction.

  I place my hands on the backs of her thighs. “Now sit up straight and let my hands support you.”

  “I’ve never done this . . .”

  “No. But you’ll be begging me for more. I’m going to lick you and eat you up like a fruit pop.” I shift so her weight bears down on me, firmly supporting her by her thighs while at the same time opening her up for me to feast.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  I follow through with my promise, licking her clear across from her moist crease to her clit. She tastes sweet like salty caramels, and I missed dinner. I circle my tongue, feeling her nub heating against me, around and around. My hands keep her thighs spread, my arms balancing her just so from beneath.

  She cries out as I thrust my tongue up into her tightness, allowing her weight to bear down on me.

  I want her wet juices to coat my face. I want her panting and screaming and begging me to finish her off. I want her wild.