“In the morning, don’t they wake up…” I trail off, still not sure how to put it, so I extend my index finger.
“With an erection? Yeah, it’s natural.”
“Oh. Right.” I turn, fiddling with one of the packages to hide my disappointment. I’d been hoping that I'd done that to Mateo. That he’d been thinking of me and that’s why he was hard this morning. Damn it. I’d thought I’d seen him staring at my mouth too. I’m a dork.
“That's all?” she asks.
“How’s it going?” Mateo enters the bedroom with a black bag in his hand.
I’m curious what kind of work he does, but I learned a long time ago that’s not something you ever ask about. I know Mateo is my hero, but I think he might not always be the good guy in the real world. My first clue was all the cell phones and the second was because of how vague he was about our upcoming trip. And let’s not forget, he frickin’ shot my kidnappers and didn’t seem to bat an eyelash.
Who am I to judge him at this point, though? I’m sure whatever he does for a living doesn’t hold a candle to what my father has done in his lifetime. I may have been taught not to ask about the family business, but that doesn’t mean I’m ignorant to what goes on. It was why I pushed so hard to not only go to college and live away from the house but to not have a bodyguard or use my family’s last name.
Most of my father’s men give me the creeps. They also mutter a lot of things about me under their breath when they get annoyed, which is often, because they don’t enjoy it when they get the job of babysitting me.
For some reason, I can’t help but believe Mateo is different, even if he is into some not-so-legal things. He doesn't give me the creeps–far from it–and he’s a sweetheart to me. He can’t be that bad.
“I think she’s good to go.” Mrs. Verne zips my suitcase up.
“Is it time?” I make myself stay where I’m standing. The urge to go to Mateo and touch him is overwhelming me, but I keep it together.
“Yeah.” Mateo runs his hand through his short dark hair.
“She can stay with me if you want,” Mrs. Verne offers.
“No,” Mateo says before my heart can even drop in disappointment. Why would Mrs. Verne do me like that?
He walks over and grabs my bag. “I’ll put this in the car, then we’ll head out.” He leaves the bedroom again.
“See? He wants you to go with him. Stop getting into your own head.”
“You were testing him? That’s why you offered that?”
Mrs. Verne shrugs. “I wanted you to see it for yourself. Now go have some fun and make sure Mateo does too. He needs some in his life.”
“On it!” I hug her, which I think surprises her, before I rush after Mateo. He’s coming back in from the garage, and I almost collide with him in my excitement.
“Careful.” His hands grip my shoulders before I can bounce off his giant body and land on my booty.
“Are you coming back to carry me to the car?” I joke.
“If need be.” I rest my hands against his chest and stare up at him. I think I could stare at his handsome face all day.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I blurt out.
“I think I’m past the age of girlfriends.”
“What does that mean?”
“There are no girls in my life. If I did have one, I wouldn't be letting another woman sleep in my bed or go on a trip with me.”
“Good.” I smile up at him. See? I knew he was a good one. “My brother and father do that crap. I don’t like it.” I can’t help but press myself more into him. I love the feeling of him against me.
“Not that kind of man.”
I know I probably shouldn’t, because they say men will say anything to get into your pants, but I believe Mateo. Besides, he’s more than welcome to get into them anytime he likes. Unless he’s not into me.
“Mateo,” I breathe when I feel something very familiar and very hard press against me.
“Let’s go.” He steps back, taking that familiar feeling with him.
He’s turned on. That makes two of us.
9
Mateo
She stares out the window, taking in the endless ocean as we cruise across the Atlantic.
“You don’t fly much?” I ask.
“No. I don’t get to go on trips. Not like Henry. He’s always jetting off to some island or skiing in the Alps.” She shrugs. “I’m sort of an afterthought, I guess. But I don’t want to go with him anyway. He’s always partying and hanging around with people I don’t understand.”
“How so?”
She finally tears her gaze from the window and looks at me. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess it’s that I can’t tell if they’re being serious? It’s hard to explain. Sometimes I think maybe I speak a different language, or maybe I’m just slow.”