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He’d had his liquor. Vincente set down his empty glass.
Fucking would have to wait.
“Pack your things,” he told Juan. “Varella will not be the one to dictate a time for this meeting. We leave tomorrow morning.”
Another flash of lightning cracked like gunfire.
“Once we have Gianna, we return to Mexico—to the family estate.” Vincente turned toward his bedroom. “Then, we remind both of our fathers whyIwill keep Espina Negra the most powerful cartel in North America.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
HelovedGia.
Love.
It was the first time Caleb let the word rise fully to the surface, even though it had been there, waiting, just beneath his thoughts.
He lay on his side and watched her sleep. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting the bed in pale stripes of silver and shadow.
They’d crawled out of bed long enough to eat dinner, made love again, then crashed. He’d been sleeping pretty soundly, in fact.
Until a hot, wet mouth on his dick blasted his eyes open. Gia kneeled between his legs, hair cascading like rainwater over his thighs, sapphire eyes wide with hunger.
And fear.
No matter how many times he’d made her scream with pleasure, he hadn’t been able to erase the shadows clinging to the edges.
He wound a strand of her hair around his finger and brought it to his nose.
Desert rose.
When was the exact moment he’d fallen for her?
Maybe it was when she walked into Lucero’s Lounge with that scared-doe look.
Or when she slid into the seat beside him at his mother’s funeral, refusing to let him sit alone.
Maybe it was when she took command at the accident scene—boss-lady energy in full force—yet still trusted him enough to back her up with his training.
Hell, all he knew was he wanted her.
Wanted her safe.
And he’d do whatever it took to make sure she stayed that way.
His fists curled, bronzed knuckles standing out against the sterile white sheets.
Those hands had worshipped her. Every inch of her softness and curves. He’d sunk his fingers into her wet heat and lapped up her screams when she came.
He flexed them now. Those same hands had killed—and would again, without hesitation, if that’s what it took to protect her.
Would she look at him differently?
Her, with her healer’s hands and gentle heart.
Him, with his warrior’s fists and cold calculation.
Lopez wouldn't walk away from this alive. He'd make sure the drug lord didn’t live to see the end of the week.