Page 28 of Cartel Prince

I just don’t think he’d do half of what Pablo has. That’s a painful realization. One that creates a gaping hole in my heart.

Now that I know Luciana broke the engagement because she fell in love with Esteban on her own and chose him, it paints my father’s choices in a far different light. He could’ve marriedMamá, but he kept her as his mistress instead. He knew she was pregnant when he died. He could’ve provided better for her and for me.

He didn’t, so my grandparents on both sides stepped in to help. I know I’ve always been in danger because of him. I just didn’t know how grave it was until recently. His decisions have haunted me.

This is a lot of introspection, and it’s making me feel worse rather than better. I push back the covers and look around for my clothes. I remake the bed before I slip them back on and open the door. I hear nothing, so I close it behind me. That’s how it was before Pablo took me inside. I bet the stars are brilliant out here with no ambient light to hide them.

I wander out to the pool and sweep my gaze around the lawn. There are men patrolling the property, but the ones back here are at the far end of the yard. This place is several acres. It’s probably large enough to have half a golf course. The men I can see are little more than dark shapes.

I roll up my pant legs and sit on the edge of the pool. I stick my toes in before putting them all the way in. I’m surprised to find it’s heated. I wonder if someone else in the family has been here recently or if it’s kept this way in case someone shows up.I saw the solar panels when we arrived. I guess electricity isn’t scarce here. It makes sense, so they remain off the grid. I look up, half expecting to see some satellite orbiting the place.

“Chica?”

I twist to see Pablo coming through the French doors I passed through.

Fucking hell.

He really is the hottest man I’ve ever seen.

He took off his suit coat at some point and rolled up his sleeves. His tats peek below his cuffs, and I wonder what I’ll find when he takes off his shirt. The material strains across his broad shoulders and chest and—dare I say it—bulging biceps. It’s true. They are. Cliché, but honest. His trousers hug his slim waist, and his torso tapers to make his body a perfect triangle. As he walks toward me, I can tell how athletic his legs are, even if I hadn’t felt them beneath me—between my legs.

Fuck. That was so damn hot.

I was nearly out of my mind with need earlier. The way he edged me—he clearly knew what he was doing. I was barely clinging to the little control I had. I definitely didn’t control the scene, but I maintained enough control over my body to not come until he gave me permission.

Scene.

The idea that it was something performed dampens my feelings.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh? Nothing.”

“Yes, there is. Your expression changed. You withdrew.”

He comes to stand beside me. When I pull my feet in, he presses his hand to my shoulder as he toes off his shoes. He lets go to take off his socks and roll up his pants. He sits next to me and sticks his feet in beside mine.

“You thought of something that bothered you,chica. I’ll never insist you share your thoughts with me, but I hope you will. Something’s troubling you, and I’d like to—help.”

Did he want to say fix it?

Does he need that much control over everything?

No.

His expression tells me he’s worried. But is he worried about what’s upsetting me or worried he can’t fix whatever it is? Is he worried I won’t tell him?

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and draws me against his side. He kisses the top of my head as I lean it against him. He says nothing more. His strong, silent type is comforting now when it was frustrating earlier. I wrap my arm around his waist. I watch him swirl water around his ankles, and it makes me smile. I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s such a relaxed thing to do. He’s truly happy here.

“Pablo, was earlier a scene?”

“No.”

He’s so quick to answer some questions. It’s not that he’s shutting me down or shutting me out. He just knows the answer without thinking about it. He’s unwavering about it.

“Flora, we’ll agree when it’s a scene.”

“But if our dynamic is nonstop, then doesn’t it make everything some sort of scene?”