Mendoza meets me at the entrance of the sickroom but won’t step in any farther.
“Sorry.” He raises his hands. “I suck with crying women. Pretty good at killing people and striking fear into the hearts of many. Not so good with the comforting thing.”
“Shit, man, where’s my sister?” I snap.
He shakes his head. “No idea. Like your girl said, it was chaotic, and I was more interested in killing Hudson’s men and capturing him than I was making sure that the Russian didn’t run off with your sister.”
With a snap of his fingers he calls the attention of a young kid draped in a crisscrossed ammunition belt. I roll my eyes, and Mendoza shrugs. “Kids,” he says. “What can you do?” The kid hands him a tray of food, which Mendoza brings into the room. “Eat. I’ve got a cargo plane that will take you to Costa Rica. From there you should be able to get home. You got your papers?”
I nod. “Thanks.”
“Sorry about your sister.” At the doorway, he pauses and says with not a little longing in his voice, “You got a good one. Hold her tight.”
So the king wants a queen to keep him company in bed. Interesting. I don’t give any more thought to Mendoza’s lack of romantic prospects because I’ve got other concerns to worry about. On the tray there’s a pitcher of water along with two bowls of hearty gumbo and a few cheese rolls. Regan is silent through this whole exchange, and her tears have tapered off.
Setting her on the bed, I pull the table in front of her.
“Pão de queijo.” I offer her a roll. “They’re cheese and bread. Trust me, this is one of the best things that has ever been made. Like Cristo Redentor himself must have delivered the recipe to the original settlers of Rio.”
She gives me a sad, watery smile and takes the cheese roll. Because these rolls are so damn good, even tragic Regan can’t stop her moan of pleasure. “Right?” I say, eating half of my own roll. “Crispy crust on the outside and fucking heavenly delight on the inside.” I wait until she’s swallowed down one whole roll before I hand her a glass of water. “Fighter, we are in this together. It’s not your fault that Vasily ran off with my sister. Plus, I know where he lives. Like, literally. So we’re going to eat up and then head off to Costa Rica.”
“I want to come with you,” she says, mouth halfway around another pão de queijo.
“Sure.” I lean over and give her a quick kiss. “I wouldn’t want to go back to Minneapolis and mess with payroll systems, either.”
This finally gets a tiny grunt of a laugh from her. “You’re really not upset with me?”
“Christ, no.” I set down my food and stare at her in surprise. “Is that what the torrent of tears was all about? That I’d be mad because of Naomi?” She gives me a small nod. “Look, Naomi was not your responsibility. If anything, it’s on me because I got myself shot. Vasily’s not going to hurt her.” I hope not at least. My initial fear was that Naomi had gotten separated and was out wandering the streets of Rio, which would not be good. She’s not good with new places, bright lights, disorder, or crowds—which is kind of what Rio is.
“I feel terrible and thought you’d be done with me.”
Setting down the bowl of gumbo, I cup Regan’s face with one hand and push the table away with the other. “I’m not ever going to be done with you, fighter. What’d I tell you before? You’re going to have to kill me first before you can scrape me off.” I stop and then say, “It sounded a lot less creepy in my head.”
Laughing, she draws one finger along the ridge of my prominent erection. Thin linen pants do very little to hide what’s going on, particularly when I’m free balling it. “Your creepy thoughts make me feel safe.” Her voice takes on a teasing quality, and a damp spot appears close to the tip of her finger.
“I have lots more where that came from.” I tumble her down on top of me, and as I lick inside of her mouth, I know that nothing will ever taste as good as her. She trembles under my hands and moans against my mouth.
“Can you always wear skirts?” I ask, shoving up the fabric so I can find the true heaven on Earth. My hand delves between her legs, and I swell even harder, bigger, thicker, when I find that she’s soaking wet and completely naked.
“It gets cold in Minnesota,” she gasps. “There’ll be times I can’t wear them.”
“Then we’re gonna have to live somewhere warmer.” Pulling my own pants down far enough to spring my cock free, I roll her over and position it at her wet, hot entrance. The first push is always so amazing, as her cunt welcomes me with a silky, tight embrace.