Page 106 of Devil's Claim

And another guttural laugh from Kruz just before he turned the key and lowered the window.

Oh. My. God. Two faces. Two pairs of eyes gawking at us with incredulous expressions.

One giggle.

One curse in Spanish.

The people interrupting us? My new boss and her husband. A man with a gun.

“Well, hell,” Kruz hissed.

I pressed my face into Kruz’s neck, but not before catching sight of someone holding a gun in our face. A giggle popped from my lips. Then another. At least Kruz was attempting to be chivalrous, holding me close and protecting my naked body while my face turned sixteen shades of red.

“What the fuck?” The man with the gruff voice suddenly burst into laughter. “Couldn’t you wait until you got inside?”

Kruz exhaled. “You know me, Jago. I take what I want when I want. I just couldn’t wait.”

CHAPTER 26

Kruz

“You are going to be very obedient. Correct?” I lifted my eyebrows as I studied Christine, holding out a new cellphone at the same time.

She tipped her head, tossing her long hair across her shoulders. As she swaggered closer, my body reacted as it always did around her, my mind taken hostage by my intense needs. Right now, I could chuck everything required with business, spending the day in bed ravaging every inch of her body.

We’d done that several times over the last few days.

As she approached, she swept her gaze very slowly all the way down to my Berluti Alessandro leather oxfords. She closed the distance, shaking her head while taking the phone.

“What?” I demanded.

She gave me the look I’d come to both love and loathe before adjusting the collar on my jacket. Underneath I wore a blacksleeveless tee shirt, black jeans, and combat boots finishing off the look. “You look like some bandit from an eighties movie.”

“Bandit?”

“You know what I mean. Like some bit player bandito used as a hired gun for the bigwig who always wears a Gucci suit and smokes a fine Cuban cigar while his men do the dirty work.”

“You’re suggesting I don’t look like a boss?”

“You definitely do not look like a dictator. More like a foot soldier in an army. Maybe it’s your hair.” She ran her fingers through my hair as she laughed.

I threw my arm around her waist, pulling her even closer. “You have no room to talk. Where did my little baker go?”

“What do you mean?” She shoved her hands against my chest, breaking the hold and turning in a full circle.

“You look like a million bucks,” I admitted.

And she did.

The black pantsuit and shocking violet blouse accentuated… absolutely everything about her. The glisten in her eyes. Her luminous skin. Her dazzling figure.

“That’s because this outfit cost more money than my rent payment in Miami. It’s not really me.”

I inched as close as possible, only a few centimeters between us. Dangerous territory. “You know what they say. Perception is everything.”

Christine sighed but nodded at the same time while pushing off from me playfully. “I know. I just feel like a fake.”

She liked to think she had some control over me.