Page 4 of Deceptive Desires (The Syndicate #2)

Roman

“The sexiest chin I’ve ever seen,” a melodic voice says. It’s breathy and light.

I drop my gaze to the woman who fell into my arms… literally.

And I’m met with caramel eyes. Warm, tan skin. Pink, full lips. An adorable nose. And a mop of wavy, rich brown hair.

She’s the most enchanting thing I’ve ever seen.

“A sexy chin,” she mutters.

I stare at her in confusion. What is she saying?

Then I smirk when I realize she’s staring at me, at my chin.

This goddess thinks I have a sexy chin.

I go to put her down, but she immediately stumbles and starts to fall. I swing her back into my arms and glance up. Indecision reigns through me.

I watch the figure in black walk further away, increasing the distance between us.

I’ve been following Ivan Sokolov for days, after even more spent tracking him down. If I lose him now, it’s going to put me behind schedule. I planned on nabbing him in a few hours.

The girl in my arms moves to follow my gaze, but winces, and grabs the back of her head.

I look down at her and realize she must’ve hit her head.

One last glance up at his retreating form, indecision wars within me.

A light groan of pain brings my gaze swinging back to her. To this beauty that I’m holding.

I glance at Ivan and curse when he turns a corner, then I look back down at the siren in my arms.

Nothing comes between me and my work. Nobody does. Certainly not a stranger who I have no intentions of interacting with. No matter how enchanting she is.

But she’s too tempting to ignore.

I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking, but I can’t put her down. She’s hurt. She needs me.

“I want to lick the tattoos on his neck.” She sighs, and her eyes flutter closed as a heart-stopping giggle escapes her lips.

Fuck. She probably has a concussion. She can’t fall asleep.

“Sunshine, I need you to open your eyes for me,” I say in a gentle tone I didn’t even know I was capable of. It just came out naturally for her.

Slowly, her lids flutter, and her face scrunches in concentration as she pries them open.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, and my body reacts immediately.

My cock springs to life as my blood boils. I grind my teeth.

This is not the right time. I don’t get off on concussed women. She probably doesn’t even know what she’s saying.

But I bet she doesn’t go around saying ‘yes, sir’ to every man she sees. Or telling him she wants to lick his tattoos.

Then her eyes glance at my neck and the ink peaking from the collar of my shirt, and she licks her lips.

Fuck.

Why is she doing this to me?

When her eyes start to droop again, I give her a slight jostle.

“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to keep her talking to stay awake.

“Cecilia María álvarez Rivera.” She thrusts her hand in my face, as if to shake for introduction.

I adjust my hold on her to one arm, which is quite easy with how light she is, and I shake her hand with my now free one.

Tingles shoot up my arms at the contact, and she sighs again. “You can call me Celia.”

“Is that what your friends call you?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going as I turn into an alley, not wanting to cause a scene. Holding an incoherent woman in the middle of the sidewalk may raise suspicion. Not that I’ve done anything wrong.

Some man knocked into her, and she landed in my arms. I didn’t even mean to catch her, but instinct kicked in.

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’, smacking those luscious lips.

“No one’s ever called me that. Mi mamá calls me Cecisita.

And the rest of my family calls me Ceci María.

My friends just call me Cecilia. But Celia…

no one calls me Celia.” She gasps in excitement.

“No, that’s not true anymore. You, my sexy héroe, can call me Celia.

It’ll be your name for me. Just for you. ”

Just for you.

An unfamiliar warmth takes over my chest and spreads throughout my body.

“Hey, hero, what’s your name?” She sings it out, and I’m once again mesmerized.

“Roman Montclair,” I respond mindlessly. Only to falter when I realize my mistake. I never give my name to strangers. There’s little more powerful than knowing someone’s identity.

But I’m not too worried about my sunshine. I doubt she’s familiar with Syndicate affairs. Unless this Latina goddess is associated with one of the small cartels. I glance down again, but there’s no recognition in her features.

“Roman Montclair.” She tries it. “Hmm. It’s not bad. A strong name for a strong man. But I think I’ll stick with héroe. Because you saved me.”

I try not to laugh at the irony of the situation. She fell into my arms while I was tailing a man to torture. I didn’t even consciously catch her. And now she’s calling me her hero.

I’ve never been someone’s hero.

I’ve never been a hero.

I’m the villain. For the good side. But nevertheless, I’m the monster that lurks in the shadows. The one the other monsters fear.

And now, this goddess is proclaiming I’m her hero.

And for some reason, I want to be. I don’t want to correct her. I don’t want to prove her wrong and reveal who I really am. For just this one moment, I want to be someone’s hero.

No, not someone’s.

Her’s.

I want to be her hero.

“Okay, Celia. Let’s get you home. Do you live with anyone that can take care of you?” I ask, gritting my teeth at the thought of a man waiting at home for her. There isn’t a ring on her finger, so at least she’s not married. But I’m not sure even that would stop me.

Stop me from what? She’s just some girl I’m bringing home and never seeing again.

“Yes. My Gracie. She’s the best. My little Oscar the Grouch. She should be back from school soon. My little Spacey Gracie. She doesn’t like when I call her that.” Then Celia winks at me, as if letting me in on the inside joke.

I’m just bringing her home. Then leaving her forever.

I chant it to myself.

“What’s your address, sunshine?”

She rattles it off, and I head in that direction. It’s only a mile and a half away, and I can keep to side streets and alleys to avoid judgmental eyes.

“Héroe, you can’t carry me that far! It’s a hop and a skip away. You’ll get tired. I don’t want my hero tired.”

I scoff, offended. “Sunshine, I could carry you all day and never get tired. You barely weigh anything.”

She eyes me skeptically, then brings her hand to my neck. She traces the top of my tattoos lightly, and I hold back a groan. Her touch is so soft, but it sears into me as if it were a flame.

She trails her fingers to the back of my neck and runs her whole hand up through my buzzed hair. She plays with the short spikes with the tips of her delicate fingers.

I keep it short out of convenience, but I wonder if she’d rather it longer, so she had more length to run through.

“I like the prickle.”

I smirk.

Of course, my girl likes my hair how I do.

She’s perfect.