Who did he work for?
I tell myself I trust my henchmen to investigate and extinguish the threat while the candlelight glows over Ava’s honeyed-silk skin. I run the heel of my palm into my sore eye sockets. It felt like I jarred my brain while screwing her. I kept anticipating she’d break, beg for me to stop, or say that ridiculoushappyword.
Shite! I should make her happy. I’ve the tools necessary to bring about her orgasm; however, her contentment is beyond me. Softly, scraping my knuckles over her spine, I muse for a moment. A sliver of moon bends on the left side of her cheek.
She’s happy. Though, my little bird would never admit it. So, I decide to trust my men for now and see if I can last an entire night free of Mam’s haunting.
A few hours later, the light drowns in its own wax. I’m not asleep, not for lack of trying. The bonny woman in my arms has stirred my cock while she groans softly. In the darkness, my lips find her, drawn like a moth to a flame. It’s the faintest kiss, just to ease the stiff twitch of my dick, except Ava tenses.
Over a minute later, Ava’s hand drops at my chest, and she gives a little push. “Good night, Kieran,”
“My room, remember?” Grinning, I search out the lovely curve of her face as my eyes adjust to the thinning darkness.
“My bad.” Ever the runner, Ava shifts, facing her side of the bed.
“I’ve not dismissed you, little bird.” I clutch her tightly against me. “Besides, you were sleeping peacefully.”
“Oye,dismissed.” While Ava continues to complain, I decipher her broken Spanish cussing. A few words don’t ring true as Spanish at all. Ava concludes with, “I passed out from lack of oxygen, notgood sex, so get it right.”
“Give me something.” My tone is low, steely, and on a vastly different topic as I run my hand over the silk of her luscious thigh.
Both of our pupils have adapted to the night as Ava’s gaze crash-lands into mine. She instantly knows what I am referring to. Yet her awareness fades into a controlled confusion.
My hand squeezes at the meat of her hip. “How much have I told you, huh?”
I can feel her body shrinking in, growing hot with fury. “What have Iaskedof you, Kieran?”
“Listen, I’m afeckingliar—sure.” I palm her face, the moonlight streaming into the room spilling across her honey skin. “When I’m telling youbullshite,you’ll know. Now, you’ve gotta give mesomething,lassie. Tell me about you.”
“If Icared,I’d appreciate the honesty.”
I ignore Ava’s blunt remark, saying, “I’ve the feeling you’re just that perceptive already. But here, I’ll give you a wee tip. I don’t look a person in the eye when I lie, lassie.So, this is me staring you square in the eye, saying I will never let you go.”
I expect a hand to fly, or her mouth to run, any action to facilitate how I’ve irked her nerves. Ava holds her hands up, parallel to each other as if praying but not so close. After a measured, audible sigh, she says, “I’ll always strive for freedom, Kieran. Why do you take my desire for the pursuit of liberty so personal?”
“One day, it’s gonna hit you like rainbows andfeckingsunshine that, with me, you’re as free as you will ever be. I’ll not hold you back from the bestyou.”I turn on my side, lying close to her. “You’re bringing the best outta me too.”
A terse laugh lifts from her lips. “The best you? Murdering your assistant in front of your little sister? Threatening the lives of her guardians?Oye,I can’t fathom introductions with theworstin you?”
Shite. . . Up until this point, I’ve talked to Ava more than I have any other woman in my entire life. Should I mention the haunting? Mam’s ghost? Who rarely visits while Ava’s in my presence? Granted, Mam steered me toward pushing Ava off the cliff, which could’ve gone worse.
Suddenly, Ava speaks in a whisper, heavy with emotion. “My papa was an Afro Cubano who never had a place to call home. He spent years working as a cook on a couple of cruise lines . . . settled in at Carnival Cruise line—the crème de la crème—perfect place to retire.” Startled by my arm softly encircling her waist, Ava pauses. “Each port presented an opportunity. Papa could search out a new recipe, make a new friend. However, he had no concept of time.” Ava glances over her shoulder. “If I told you, my papa kidnapped my mama when they first met, would you believe me?”
As I knead her thigh, I reply, “No.”
“Picture a crystal blue ocean, Belize. Mama was Belizean, by the way.”
Ahh, that explains why some of her Spanish words aren’t easy to decipher.
“Mama had just gone for a swim and was getting into her car,” she pauses, places a hand over her mouth and laughs, “my papa finally noticed the time. He’d been on a break from Carnival. He was oblivious, flustered, and an hour away from the vessel that would leave in twenty minutes.”
Suddenly, Ava’s voice takes on an animated tone, longing laces through it. “So, Papa jumps into what he assumes is a taxi. Climbs right into the front seat. Mama’s screaming. He’s pulling something from his pocket—and she clocks him. Knocks him out with a tiny statue of Jesus, the same weight as a twenty-pound dumbbell. Money goes flying.”
“Sounds like the perfect match,” I tell her after we stop laughing.
“They were. Kieran . . . I,” exhaling deeply, Ava’s breath skates across my jaw, “don’t have family waiting or crying their eyes out for me. My parents died.”
Words catch in Ava’s throat. As she chokes on emotion, I quietly stroke her spine with my knuckles.