Page 81 of Tainted Blood
“My sister has explained how you blackmailed her into marriage, yes.”
I can see how these two are related. Beyond the striking physical resemblance, Ella Santiago shares her sister’s same fierce protective streak. However, something tells me Thalia’s big sister is more bark than bite.
My wife, on the other hand...
Reece steps in between us, his arms spread wide like a Santiago soccer goalie. “Go back inside, Ella. Señor Carrera was just leaving.”
I palm the back of my neck, deciding whether or not to shoot this pinche cabrón in the head or the stomach for maximum suffering. “Look, if I can just—”
“Hey, Ells, who’s at the…?” Thalia’s steps falter when she sees me, and her eyes widen. “Santi.” The breathy sound of my name on her lips turns my hard dick to granite. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Fuck, she looks beautiful. Fresh faced with no makeup, with her long dark hair tousled around her shoulders as she clutches at a short red robe that barely skims her thighs.
Perfection.
“I missed you again,” I tell her honestly.
Reece spins around, the aforementioned gun, now pointing in my face. “Carrera. Out. Now!”
I don’t flinch. If he thinks I’m intimidated by looking down the barrel of a gun, he doesn’t know a damn thing about me. “Five minutes, Thalia,” I say over his shoulder. “Please.”
It’s the “please” that gets to her. I knew it would. Thalia knows I’m not a man who grovels. I don’t say “please” to anyone, except her…
Plus, I’m not above playing dirty.
She sighs. “Five minutes and then you’re leaving. You promised, Santi.”
There’s that word again—promise. I’m starting to hate it, as much as I do space and time. But I’ll take what I can get, so I nod, ignoring her bodyguard’s disapproval as I follow her down a hallway and into a bedroom that screams her name. There’s no fanfare or lace—just shades of color, with pictures of her family littering the walls and furniture.
It’s simple and understated and perfect.
Just like her.
“Nice room,” I say.
She shrugs. “It’s no swanky black penthouse, but I’m free to come and go as I please.” The moment she realizes what she’s said, she sinks her teeth into her top lip and draws out a sigh. “Sorry, knee jerk reaction.”
“Don’t apologize.” Lifting the bottle, I give her a wolfish smile. “It’s true.”
Eyeing the bottle with disdain, she grabs it out of my hand. “Santi, you need to lay off the Añejo.”
“Why? Are you worried about my liver again, muñequita?” As the word rolls off my tongue, her eyes flash, causing me to step closer. “Besides, it’s not my liver that’s the problem.”
“Look, if this is about what happened in the elevator earlier…”
“I’m not here about that.”
Magnets can’t help but be drawn to one another. Positives and negatives—they clash in the most violent of ways. That’s us. And that’s why Thalia’s gaze lowers to the straining bulge in my pants, whether she wants it to or not.
That little gasp she lets out only fans the flame. Her steps are uneven as she backs into the dresser, the bottle clanging as she slides it across the polished wood.
“I thought you wanted to talk?”
“I did.”
Step.
“And we have.”