I’m left alone in Tomás’ suite with the scent of his masculinity ingrained in the walls and my memory. Who wouldn’t be impressed by this display of fortune? Me, that’s who. I’m worried I’ll get a taste for the forbidden. That the nineteen-year-old girl surrounded by affluence will never be the same after a collision course with a fireball.
Rather than open every box and look inside another bag, I try on the flirty bra. It’s gorgeous. I'm in awe of how something so minimal and risqué in appearance can boost my confidence—and my libido.
I find the matching panties with string-like ties at the hips and step into them. Curious to know how they look on me, I prance into the expansive closet and sashay in front of the mirror.
The pale skinned girl staring back at me has flushed cheeks and faint bruises. She wears feminine lingerie and silvery scars that will forever remind her of the dark days. Yet here I am—still standing and fighting. Except for one thing—I’ve felt the power of sex like a thunderstroke. A bolt of lust so immense it casts light on the shadows clinging to my soul and gives me wings to fly.
I’ve kissed a man with the very lips I’ve been self-conscious of all my life.
I’ve orgasmed at the mercy of a stunning villain and claimed his wild releases as mine.
I’ve made bad choices. And now I’ll suck up my decision to stay for a few days and embrace the madness inside of me.
Turning away from my unique metamorphosis, I silently give Tomás permission to stain every shred of innocence I have left. Instead of being afraid, I’ll become the awakened version of myself—feminine and dauntless. I’m not a young girl on the cusp of womanhood—Iamthat woman now.
Stepping into the knee length dress I had first come across; I pull up the fine zipper and smooth my palms over the blossomy pattern. Without checking how it looks on me, I towel dry my hair, rake the damp lengths through with my fingers and leave the bedroom behind.
I have so many questions to ask Marta. Whether she will indulge my interrogation is another thing. It won’t be an easy task, but I’ll do my best to tease something out of her.
The pale marble is cool underfoot as I drop off the bottom step and pad to the kitchen. It’s eerily quiet. I wonder if it’s just the two of us, if Tomás had sent all of his soldiers away. Given he shot one of them dead, I imagine they’ve left his compound for their own safety.
A tip tap of doggy nails patter from behind. Brutus trots a lap around my legs, the fluffy stump where his tail should be wags and his black nose sniffs. He’s such a big furball. By the way he nuzzles into my hand, no one would ever suspect his lethal jaws were clamped around my enemy’s ankle in the middle of the night.
I lower to my knees, aware of every throbbing ache. When we’re nose to nose, he sits and bows his head. I rub his ears and kiss the top of his silky head as a thank you for being my canine hero. Tomás had shot the asshole, but Brutus defended me—against all of them.
“You’re the best guard dog ever,” I whisper, close to his pricked ear. He smells freshly groomed and clean. Even Tomás’ pets are treated with first class care and attention. “I wish I could take you with me when I leave. We’d be a good team.”
I hear Marta hum to herself from the kitchen, perfectly content in the devil's den. Brutus follows me, his noisy entry alerting the housekeeper to our arrival.
As expected, a yellow cake dusted in powdered sugar sits on the island, trapped beneath a glass dome.
“I see you’ve made a friend.” Marta opens a cupboard and selects a side plate. “He’s not usually comfortable with strangers. Then again, neither was Elias.” I check out her black uniform as she raises the see-through bubble to reveal a scent of sweetness. The loose material is basic, with a frilly white collar and thin belt around her waistline. “Would you like to eat this on the patio? I’ll bring it out to you.”
I skirt the island, slide out a stool and sit, not wanting to be alone. “Won’t you join me?” I nod to the neighboring stool, suddenly aware of a pang of homesickness chasing my energized mood.
Her forehead wrinkles as she thinks. “I have plenty of work to do, niña. There’s a lot to be done while he’s out.”
“Let me help you.” I raise my brows. “I’ve nothing else to do. Before I…” I stop a second and consider how to word my next sentence. “Before I bumped into Tomás, I worked in a bar, and I’ve helped out at a medical facility, too. I’m great at cleaning if you’d like an extra set of hands.”
Marta picks up a long knife, her aged fingers curling around the handle. With her expression bland, she punctures the dusty top layer, cutting a wedge of cake and teasing it onto a plate.
“You’re a guest,” she replies like a grandmother chastising her grandchild. “It’s not expected of you to work alongside the staff here.” She slides the plate toward me and sets a tiny fork beside it. “Enjoy the sunshine before he returns.”
The way she says the last sentence makes me wonder if she’s seen his darkness, too.
“How long have you worked for him?” I ask when she turns away and carries on about her business.
She glances over her shoulder and sighs softly. “Many years.”
“How did you meet him?” I persist.
Marta angles her hips back to me. “My husband. He was a loyal soldier to Elias.” The lines on her face harden like grooves of worn out resentment. “He dedicated the best part of his life to serving that man...” Her voice fades and fine lashes lower to the uneaten cake on my plate.
She’s debating telling me the story, which undoubtedly ends with her husband's death. I can sense the sadness ooze from her pores and bleed from her heart.
“What was your husband’s name?” I ask softly, trying to keep the conversation alive.
“Pepe.” Her throat bobs heavily, so she coughs. “The day he was diagnosed with cancer, Elias replaced him,” she hisses under her breath, the waspish sound stinging with venom. “He cut him off without a second thought. The so-called financial payoff Elias gave him wasn’t enough to pay the growing medical bills.” The tone she uses turns caustic, her expression stern with bitterness. “Elias wasn’t human. Pepe watched him change over the years. Power does that to a man. It contorts the ego.”