In that exact moment, the sound of the jet taking off fills the air.
Of their own volition, my lips part to welcome him in. But I don’t kiss him back.
The will to restrain myself is weak and the urge to give in is strong, but I fight the good fight. Though that doesn’t stop him from drinking the air from my lungs like fresh water from a spring. Like a man on fire dashing into the ocean.Sucha great kisser.
The longer he kisses me, the deeper he gets, and the more my resolve weakens, breaking me down.
Just as I’m about to throw my arms around him and give in, his phone rings again.
With a vexed groan, he ends the kiss and gets out his phone. This time he hooks his arm firmly around my neck to keep me from moving before he answers, “Paloma? ... Mhm ... Is he there now? ... I’ll stop by in a bit. You know what to do.”
Pocketing his phone, he stares down at me.
Half-heartedly, I say, “Let me go.”
Slowly, he scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip and considers me.
In the next second, a squawk flies out of me, and then I’m hanging upside down over his shoulder.
Blood rushing to my brain, I fire off a string of empty threats as he carries me back to the car. Opens the passenger door and stuffs me inside.
Before I can poke out his eyes with my freshly manicured nails, he slams the door in my face.
To be honest, I could very well be pretending at this point. Because the war was over the moment he kissed me.
Nothing compares to Santo Luciani’s touch, kiss, smell.Nothing.
I’m mush. Goo.
As he rounds the vehicle to the driver’s side, I duck my head to hide my smile.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Blackmail material.”
Tillie
“TAKE ME TO LAX,” I say when he drops the handbrake.
He speeds out of the airfield. “Certainly.”
We don’t talk for the drive. No doubt, his mind’s already crossed out “Get Tillie off the plane” from his to-do list and has moved on to the next thing.
That’s what his entire life is, isn’t it? Solving one problem after another, zero social life, always on call. No wonder he’s still a virgin. When would he find the time to ensnare that precious wife he’s waiting for?
“What are you doing?” I ask some forty minutes later when he goes off route and drives into a nice apartment complex.
“Need to make a quick stop.” He swings into a reserved parking spot and yanks up the handbrake. “Stay here.”
“Oh, eat my ass.” I undo my seat belt. “You don’t get to crash my plans,nottake me to the airport as asked, then try to leave me in the frickin’ car like I’m a rambunctious puppy while you go off to do God knows what.”
Biting one corner of his lip, he contemplates me for several seconds, then sighs as though he knows this is a battle he won’t win. “Suit yourself.”
He gets out of the car and I’m right there on his tail, following him along the limestone path to the building. Using a key card, he opens the tinted glass doors and waves me into the aesthetically pleasing air-conditioned lobby. Guides me to the elevator with a quick ride up to the second floor. Walks down the marble floor corridor and knocks on the door of apartment A205.
A burly man in a wife-beater opens up almost thirty seconds later, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Boss—I…was not expecting you.”
“Was nearby, thought I’d drop in. Check up on some things,” Saint says casually. “May I come in?”
