Page 61 of Devil's Property

Fallon

I shifted closer, enjoying the light breeze tickling my skin. The rocks were cold, sharp edges digging into my bare feet. The scent of the ocean below wafted into my nostrils, salty and inviting. Once I was at the edge, I took a deep whiff. The early morning sun was beautiful as it shimmered while lifting into the horizon.

Shades of blushing pink and fresh peach melded together with strings of lavender and just a hint of golden yellow. Beautiful to the naked eye.

I enjoyed a moment of warmth from the sun before lifting my arms, holding them out to the sides. This was the perfect day.

With a smile on my face, I closed my eyes.

And took a giant leap.

“Oh,” I whimpered as I fought to claw my way to the surface. Tiny vibrations hummed in my ears as I blinked several times.Images of the ocean depth swept through my mind. First peace. Then… death.

My pulse was racing and my heart was beating so quickly the heavy drumbeat of sound echoed in my ears. A sudden cold shiver coursed down my spine and I jerked whatever my fingers were clutching around me. As I was taking deep breaths, I slowly started to remember where I was, and the fading images weren’t real.

Sensing a presence, I slowly turned my head. Maybe the sunlight was playing tricks on me, but Navarro’s stare was hard and cold, yet when I blinked, there was nothing but concern in his heated gaze.

“Nightmare?” he asked. He’d leaned forward in the seat and had his elbows on his knees, his fingers flexed and steepled in front of him. His brow was furrowed, his hair tousled, and without a shirt, he took my breath away.

I shouldn’t feel that way, but the push and pull of the crazy, dangerous relationship we’d established in little more than a day had brought about dozens of emotions. “Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” I tugged the covers further up my chest, feeling more exposed than I had the night before. I finally noticed he had my phone in his hand. With the red cover, there was no mistaking it.

He noticed my quick glance and smiled. “I thought you might like to have your phone back.”

“You don’t give something for nothing, Navarro. That much I’ve gathered about your management style.”

Just then, there was a knock on the door. I rolled under the covers completely, yanking the sheet over my head.

His laugh was just as seductive as the night before, but with more amusement. “Relax, Fallon. I asked the chef to make a late breakfast and the only thing I want in return for my kindness is the truth. Always the truth.”

He spoke of truths when he was working closely with a corrupt organization. I found that both hysterical and annoying. Much like the man himself.

I didn’t dare take a peek, completely embarrassed I’d fallen into his trap.

As well as the man’s enthralling ability to catch me off guard. Whoever had entered was calling him sir and there was a clattering of what sounded like something bumping on a tray. I held my breath, angry with myself for falling victim to the man’s prowess. How could I do that to myself?

But the scent of sausage and bacon was incredible, tickling my nose and making my stomach grumble.

“Gracias, Rosa,” he said and I heard the door click shut.

As delicious as the food smelled, it was the fragrance of freshly roasted coffee that brought me out of my hiding place. As I lowered the sheet, I noticed there were also several shopping bags sitting near the door. I glanced in his direction. He was pouring a mug of coffee and I studied his hands in particular. They were strong, as muscular as the rest of him, the ink crawling to his fingers also fascinating.

They weren’t like the tattoos I’d seen on different gang members while growing up in LA. The delicate scrolls were very artistic, their meaning something very personal to the man.

I remembered seeing similar creations of art on several young men as a child. My father had none. Not a single tattoo. He had scars, a half dozen of them he’d never explained, but no tats.

“Does everyone in your gang have a tattoo? Is it some gang-related requirement?”

He chuckled. “First of all, the Torres Empire isn’t a gang. We have a billion-dollar corporation. However, you’re perceptive in that some gangs require either ink or branding to profess loyalty. My ink is personal, paying homage to my brother.”

“Your brother. Are you close?”

He barely lifted his head, but when he did, the same haunted look I’d seen before crossed his face briefly. “Not any longer.”

I would get nothing else.