But the bastard would never have my surrender.
My muscles continued to clamp and release, finally squeezing around his cock involuntarily. When his body jerked, I realized he’d erupted deep inside, filling me with his seed.
He kept his fingers tangled in my hair, easing me to a standing position. Then he whispered words in my ear that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
“This is just the beginning,mi dulce gatita.”
CHAPTER2
Sierra
Five months earlier
“Hello?” I whispered, jarred from a deep sleep, my mind spinning from being yanked out of an ugly dream.
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
The deep baritone was startling, pulling me from the haze of sleep. The caller’s tone was also commanding. I sat up, tugging the sheets tightly against my body, shadows forming in every corner of the room from the slender sliver of moonlight. I was groggy, uncertain I heard the words correctly. “Who is this?”
After taking a deep breath, he chuckled, the sound dark and sensual. Immediately, goosebumps drifted along my arms, my heart skipping several beats.
“An admirer and you are my salvation,mi dulce gatita.”
“What?” I struggled to flip on the light on the nightstand, unable to find the switch.
“You’re a beautiful woman and you should be cherished. There is much we can do together.”
Who was this person? As I tried to recognize the man’s voice, I huddled close to the headboard. “I don’t who you are or how you got this number, but I’m hanging up now.”
“Enjoy your sleep, my sweet Sierra. And know this. Soon, Iwillbe coming for you. Then you’ll belong to me.”
* * *
The phone rang and I jumped.
I knew who was calling. There was no doubt in my mind. I tried to block the sound, but thoughts about the past immediately pushed into the forefront of my mind.
I’d been told that grief manifested itself in several ways, not just emotionally but often with a severe physical response that couldn’t be fully explained. Even after all these years, a single thought regarding Tristen’s death could shove me into a fog, my mind unable to shift into a rational state, acknowledging that it had been almost four years. Four years…
I should be over what happened by now, but since the moment the police officer had called, I’d had a nagging feeling, a tiny blip of something in the back of my mind that refused to vanish. The details surrounding Tristen’s death had been vague, off somehow. Only when I was able to exorcise whatever demons still existed would I ever be whole again. That’s what my best girlfriends had told me the week after the accident. They’d said it again a few months later.
After all this time, they’d started to chastise me for never breaking free of the chains that continued to drag me into my pitch-black moods, keeping me from going on with my life. I had tried to move on, working long hours in order to fulfill what my mother had first called a silly dream.
To own a cozy neighborhood bookstore that served wine and some of the finest cheeses and other delicacies from around the world. With Tristen’s help, I’d managed to expand, completing a dream that I’d had since before college. I loved what I’d accomplished in a few years and would relish every day except for one thing.
The expansion had come at a significant price.
Tristen’s life.
When the ringing stopped, I took a deep breath, loathing the fact I was trembling. Ignoring the call wasn’t going to make the person on the other end of the line disappear. I knew it was him.Him.The three little letters evoked an entirely different set of emotions. Strangely enough, the dark stranger’s voice alone had pitched me into unwanted and unexpected territory.
Desire.
How was it possible I felt any kind of longing for someone I would never meet and who obviously had no intention of telling me his real identity? I shuddered at the thought, yanking the sheets under my chin as I glanced at the clock.
Seconds later, my cellphone started ringing again. A lump formed in my throat, not necessarily from fear but from anxiety laced with excitement. I had to be out of my mind to consider answering it.
I stared at the phone, reaching for it as if by instinct, but terrified because the conversation would venture into something deeper that I was positive I couldn’t handle.