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  His lips had never left hers. He began kissing her again. Softly, and so slowly that she shuddered fiercely and almost wanted to move away in case she came again.

  He stayed inside her. Lars encircled them with his arms, hands trembling as his breath warmed the back of her neck. Then the man kissed her spine, her shoulders, the side of her neck. Milo drew away from her.

  His eyes were the crystal blue of a lake, gleaming above flushed cheeks and parted lips. She brought her fingertips to his mouth, touching his lips and trailing her fingers over him as he watched her. As Lars showered her skin with kisses so light, they could have been a dream.

  And then she saw the red she was streaking over Finn’s face. She jerked, pulled her hands away. Curled her fingers against her palms.

  Blood.

  Her eyes twitched up to his shoulders. His chest.

  She’d left furrows through his flesh. Some oozed with thickening blood, some barely more than a scratch.

  Finn ducked his head, caught one of her fingers between his lips, and sucked it inside his mouth. Cleaning off the blood as he slowly, reluctantly, drew out of her.

  39

  A fatherless child

  Cora’s eyes flew open at the sound of a loud knock. They felt grainy from lack of sleep, aching. As did most of her body. Hair hung in her face, and she swiped it away as she propped herself onto her elbows, blinking blearily at her unfamiliar surroundings. And then she saw the two shapes lying to either side of her. One bulky, the other slim. Lars’s mop of pale hair could be seen from under the sheets, but he’d drawn those up all the way to his ears, hiding his face. Finn’s modesty was retained with barely a strip of sheet, most of that tangled between his muscular legs. She glanced from one man to the other, giving her lips a slow lick as her mind scrambled to remember what the hell had happened last night.

  One particularly vivid memory flooded into her brain about the same time as another loud knock to her bedroom door.

  She was at her Javier’s villa.

  Lars. Finn. Her on the bed between them.

  “Elle?” came Javier’s voice from behind the bedroom door. “It’s almost nine, mi reinita. I was hoping you would join us for breakfast.”

  Javier. Her eyes widened.

  “Mierda.” She grabbed Finn and Lars each in a hand and gave them a violent shake. “Get up. Get up!”

  Finn sat bolt upright, eyes narrowed. There was another knock at the door, and his eyes flew to it. He assessed the situation in a millisecond before leaping from the bed and heading for the closest door—her en-suite closet.

  “Lars! Get up!” she whispered furiously. Finn doubled back, dragged the man from the bed, and urged him into the closet ahead of him. Cora heard a mumbled, “Breakfast already?” from Lars before Finn closed the closet door quietly behind them.

  Her bedroom door opened. Cora grabbed her sheets and gathered them at her chest. She was still naked, last night’s pajamas lay heaven knew where in the room.

  “I thought you’d be up already,” Javier said, stepping into her room. “Breakfast is getting cold.”

  She half-cringed, expecting Lars to shout out something about how he could eat a horse from the walk-in closet. Luckily, there wasn’t a sound from that room. Javier walked across her room, but stayed several feet away from her bed, perhaps noticing she was naked beneath the sheets.

  Her cheeks burned then. She probably looked like shit—hair mussed and makeup streaked.

  “I…I overslept.”

  “You did have a fair amount to drink last night,” Javier commented wryly. Then his eyes did a scan of the room, and shot back to her with a delicate frown between his thick, black brows. “Are you alone?”

  “Wh—” she cleared her throat. “Of course, Tío.”

  “It’s Javier,” he murmured, but absently. His eyes focused on something on the floor, hidden from her by the chaise lounge, and a knowing look filled his dark eyes. That generous mouth of his slid into a cold smile. “I will tell the chef to cook us some fresh eggs. Please be downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

  He turned, hands clasped casually behind his back, and looked at the walk-in closet as if he could see the two men standing behind that flimsy door.

  The bedroom door closed softly behind him, and her breath whooshed out of her in a hot stream that made her body sag back against the velvet-lined headboard.

  A few seconds later, the closet opened. Finn stuck out his head, scanned the room, and stepped out. He wore one of the many robes that had been hanging inside the closet. Her lips squirmed, wanting to smile at how ridiculous he looked in pale satin that barely came to mid-thigh. But then Lars stepped out in a hot pink robe even shorter than Finn’s—probably because he was a taller—and she burst out laughing.

  Finn glared at her, and strode over to where he’d shed his sweats, tugging them on with purpose. Lars leaned against the doorframe of the walk-in closet and struck a pose, hand on his hip, smile so wide she could see his teeth.

  “Like what you see?” he purred.

  She clapped her hands over her mouth as another lurid memory surfaced in her muzzy mind. She burrowed her head in the sheets and ran hands through her wild hair, trying to will away the image of Finn’s expression when Lars had been standing behind her, fingers—

  “You leave first,” Finn said. “Make sure no one sees you. I’ll leave a few minutes after.”

  “Oh, so it’s back to this, is it?” Lars said dryly, his smile evaporating. “You know, Milo, you’ve got some fucking nerve—”

  “I’ve got some nerve?” Finn bellowed, rushing to his feet and taking a hard step toward Lars, fists at his sides.

  “Guys,” Cora whispered urgently. “Please.”

  They turned to her, wearing almost identical expressions of surprise, as if both had forgotten she was in the room.

  “Stop fighting.”

  Her words didn’t exactly make them relax and give each other fist bumps, but at least some of the tension left their shoulders and jaws. She slid from the bed, awkwardly trying to keep a sheet wrapped around her without tripping over it. Then she pushed her shoulders back, tried to ignore the furious blush burning through her cheeks, and said, “Go get yourselves cleaned up. I’ll see you both at breakfast.”

  Finn opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue, but she cut in before he could. “Both of you.” Her voice was hard, if shaky, but for once, Finn gave her a slow nod. She turned to Lars, and he simply shrugged.

  Then, before she had time for more than an indrawn breath, the pale haired man was in front of her, crushing his mouth to hers.

  And after that brief, passionate kiss, he was gone.

  Her lips tingled furiously. She brought her hand up, touching fingertips to her mouth, and slowly turned to Finn.

  “I…I’m sorry,” she said.

  He was lacing up his shoes. “For what?” he asked, not looking at her.

  What was she sorry for? Getting roped into a threesome? Being pissed off enough at him that she’d considered sleeping with Lars as some form of revenge? She lifted her chin and waited until Finn looked up at her with an expectant frown.

  “Actually, I’m not sorry for anything.” Her skin prickled, expecting some form of fury to explode from the man, but he calmly rose to his feet, studied her for a moment, and then took a few slow steps toward her.

  “Good. You shouldn’t be.” Then he ran his hair down her head, narrowing his eyes a little before settling his gaze on her eyes. “I’m leaving,” he said.

  Her stomach contracted so hard, so fast, she thought she’d be sick right there on the wood floor. “But—”

  “You don’t want someone like me,” Finn said.

  “I’m so sick of everyone else making my decisions for me!” she yelled. Her breath rushed into suddenly tight lungs, and she hurriedly licked her lips. “I mean, if I want to…If we can…”

  His arctic blue eyes watched her until she trailed off, words suddenly gone. Then he cupped his face i
n her hands and pressed his lips to hers. Softly, almost chastely. But that touch electrified her more than Lars’s furious kiss had. When he drew back, she could see regret in his eyes. But it was there less than a second before it flickered away, replaced with that fierce determination he wore like a goddamn mask.

  “My job was to bring you to safety. You’re here now. My job’s done.” He turned to leave.

  “You said this stop being a job when we…when you—”

  “When I fucked you?”

  “When we made love,” she corrected him quietly.

  Finn let out a soft laugh. “God, you’re too innocent for this world. It’s going to eat you alive.”

  “Then stay,” Cora said, stepping closer. “And make sure it doesn’t.”

  He shook his head, eyes closed, and left without a backward glance.

  Finn glared at himself in the bathroom mirror. With morning—as always—dawn brought intense clarity of thought. Every ounce of his mind demanded that he leave the villa. By car, by foot, whatever the fuck it took to get away from Cora. But she sung to him like a fucking siren, and his body thrummed at just the memory of her silky hair under his hand.

  Strangely, he felt compelled to obey her command to stay. Maybe just for breakfast. A half hour of chitchat, food—if he could stomach anything—and then he’d be leaving all this behind in a dust cloud.

  He scrubbed his face, found his laundered and freshly ironed clothes on a neat pile on the foot of the bed, and put them on.

  The dining room was empty. He stared at the furniture for a moment, blinking. And then a passing maid murmured to him, “Don Javier takes his breakfast on the patio,” before hurrying away like she’d left the stove on.

  He found Javier and an entire entourage of men outside on the patio overlooking the crystalline waters of the swimming pool. Those pools that weren’t disturbed by mini-waterfalls mirrored a brilliant sky unbroken by clouds. Cora sat again to Javier’s left, Ana beside her. Silvia sat opposite Javier, and wore heavy shades and a sunhat despite the deep shade cast by the patio’s roof.

  Finn didn’t recognize any of the men scattered about the table. It could hold twelve, and every seat except two had been taken. One opposite Javier, and one beside that.

  He didn’t pause, but strode up the table and took the seat at the head. Javier gave him a dazzling smile across that long, glass table already laden with breakfast foods; croissants, bagels, fresh fruit, bacon and an assortment of various greasy breakfast meats…again, more food than double the amount of men could have consumed.

  No one had touched anything yet—the entire table had been waiting for him and Lars.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee battled with bacon and bread still warm from the oven.

  “Good morning, Mr. Finn,” Javier called out, louder than he had to over the distance. Cora flinched, and turned a freshly scrubbed face to Finn, giving him a tentative smile.

  She didn’t look anything like the girl who’d commanded that he stay at her side a mere fifteen minutes ago. She’d brushed her hair into a glimmering curtain of black. She didn’t wear makeup this morning, but her eyes were still luminous, her skin glowing. She wore a canary yellow sundress, and for a moment it was almost impossible for him to take his eyes off her.

  “I trust you slept well?” Javier asked, sounding as smug as the fucker looked.

  Of course he knew Finn hadn’t spent the night in his own bed. He no doubt had his flurry of servants checking up and reporting every move his guests made. Perhaps even every move Cora made. The way he’d walked into her room this morning, not waiting for her to invite him in…

  That had pissed him off beyond measure.

  A hand lay briefly on his shoulder an instant before Lars came into view. He sank down in the chair beside Finn, giving the spread an appreciative once over before waving in the general direction of Javier and Cora.

  Javier ducked his head infinitesimally in greeting, and then clicked his fingers over his head. “Buen provecho!”

  Servants rushed forward and began serving the food, hovering like flies with coffee pots and jugs of freshly squeezed juice. He hadn’t noticed yesterday, but they all wore starched white uniforms—crisp and spotless as if they’d just been bought. Some of the women even wore small little caps that had been pinned to hair drawn up into twists or buns.

  And at the forefront of all that bustle, of those lips smacking with the anticipation of that glorious spread, sat Javier. Head slowly turning, self-satisfied smile deepening.

  A king, surveying his kingdom. With a pair of queens at either hand.

  Javier touched Cora’s hand, and she barely stopped herself from starting. Her heart did a quick caper in her chest before evening out. She’d been like this the whole morning, jumping at everything her unc—Javier said or did. Because she was still waiting for him to accuse her of being some kind of philandering whore?

  “Yes?” she prompted, when he did nothing but stare at her. In the shade of the patio, his dark eyes were inky pools. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he told her he and her father were in fact brothers—both had the same impossibly black eyes and dark features. But his mouth was more generous than her father’s and he had a dimple in his chin. He also wore his graying hair longer, where her father’s had always been neatly trimmed.

  “Do you feel up for an adventure?” he asked in his sonorous voice.

  “An…adventure?” she parroted, reaching for her cup of coffee if only to hide her uneasiness.

  She’d had enough of damned adventures for a life time.

  “If I recall, your father said you were quite the accomplished rider.”

  For a moment, she thought he was referring to last night, like some kind of euphemism only the two of them would be able to puzzle out. Her cheeks flushed, and she took a too large sip of her coffee, spluttering when it burnt her tongue. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and glanced down the table to where Finn and Lars sat.

  Lars had dished up a heaped plate for himself, but Finn had settled on a piece of whole-wheat toast and a cup of coffee. Finn watched her, but Lars seemed more interested in wolfing down his food than anything else, even the man sitting beside him who was trying to engage him in conversation.

  Javier trailed his finger from one knuckle to the next, drawing her eyes back to him like filings to a lodestone. “I have a magnificent pair of geldings in my stables. I would love to take you out to see my land.”

  Horse riding. Of course. She managed a relieved nod, and gave him a small smile. “Yes. I would—that would be wonderful. Gracias.”

  “Fantastic!” he slapped the table, making Silvia splash coffee over the rim of her cup as she jumped. From the set of her mouth, she was glaring at him through her dark glasses. “I will send for you later.”

  She speared a piece of papaya onto her fork and chewed it thoroughly, avoiding Javier’s eyes.

  He’ll send for her? Did he expect her to stay in her room until then?

  She’d thought up a lot of questions on the car ride over here. How temporary this situation really was. Who was doing what to find out where her father was. Maybe Javier would answer those this morning and give her some clarity.

  Because right now, she felt like a motherless, fatherless child. A dandelion, whipped along by the wind with no saying where—or when—she’d land on earth again.

  And the one person who’d given her some kind of stability, a footing on treacherous ground…he was insistent on leaving.

  40

  A funeral

  They buried the girl Angel had strangled under the boughs of a mesquite on the edge of Zachary’s property. There were other graves in the area, but all had subtle tombstones—some only a pile of rocks. The ceremony was short, somber, and constantly interrupted by the wails of the mourning mother.

  “You tried again?” Zachary asked Rodrigo. He and Ailin stood to either side of Zachary. For once, his dogs weren’t on his heels—he’d instructed them to stay be
hind on the ranch. They wouldn’t have liked the atmosphere out here, nor the mother’s incessant tears.

  “Si,” Rodrigo murmured. “She threw the money back in my face.”

  Zachary sighed. “It was enough for her to start a new life.”

  “She’s emotional,” his lieutenant said.

  The black-veiled mother fell to knees when a pair of sicarios began filling in the grave. There was no priest to conduct the funeral, but one of Zachary’s falcons had said a few words over the girl’s burial shroud.

  He’d offered to buy a coffin, but that had apparently sent the girl’s mother into a fit of rage.

  “They are not to leave the property,” Zachary said.

  “Already made that clear,” Ailin cut in. “Their son said he had business in town, but I told him to postpone it for now.”

  The shrouded body was soon completely obscured by dirt. This seemed to snap the girl’s mother out of her frenzy. She got to her feet with the aid of her son, and stood swaying as she cast a bleary gaze over the small crowd.

  No one else had shed a tear.

  The mother’s eyes fixed on Zachary. She surged forward, but her son caught her elbow and held her back.

  “Where is he?” came her strangled yell. “Where is her murderer?”

  Zachary watched silently. Then he cocked his head at Rodrigo, and the man crossed over to the mother. He turned her away, murmuring something to her as he and her son led the woman away from the grave site.

  “Wait another few days, then press the money on her. She’ll take it.”

  Ailin gave a nod.

  “And Angel?”

  Zachary’s lips twisted into a sour grimace. “He has made it very clear where his loyalties lie.” He walked away from the grave with Ailin. It was a beautiful, if crisp, morning on the ranch. Tools had been downed at the nearby construction site in respect for the funeral, but they’d be picked up again in half an hour.