Page 10 of Hit Man

Someone’s fallen off the edge of the dance floor.

3

Aubrey

Renaldo assured us everything is okay. That the man landed in the safety net Juan Carlos insists is in place during any major events. “That fall must have taken years off of his life.” Zoey laughed, always taking everything at face value.

A safety net? If that isn’t the most ridiculous solution to an accident waiting to happen. I keep hearing the man’s scream echoing in my head. Yet if he was hurt or worse, common sense says sirens would fill the night air, right?

The three of us stumble across a wide expanse of lawn that runs parallel to the winding pebbled path leading to the guest bungalows. When we arrive at ours, I push open the door, before turning to say, “Tipsy or not, I’d have found my way but I appreciate the escort. Meet up with you at breakfast?”

Zoey looks at Renaldo, as if he’s going to pass on the chance at taking her to bed. “Since cell service is horrible, I’ll come by, and if you’re not around, leave you a note if anything changes,” she tells me. Renaldo swoops her into his arms and after a long kiss, carries her away.

Latino lovers certainly know how to sweep a girl off her feet.

I hesitate in the door’s threshold, appraising the space around me as I tend to do. Though it’s more a mental than visual appraisal, given the night is dark, inside is pitch-black, and my vision is a tad impaired.

Our bungalow has a quaint rustic vibe, with its thatched roof, small yet impeccably groomed patio entryway, and clean, faux-wood designed tile flooring. Two comfortable side-by-side queen-size beds dominate the living space. A single painting adorns the wall across from them. A scene of cows in a pasture—an odd, outdated picture with a 1970’s vibe. It’s far too large for the space. And why is it facing the bed? Who would want to be staring at cows all night when outside from the patio, you can view the lights of Mexico City off in the far distance? A neat, functional bathroom, with a touch of luxury in the addition of an eight-inch chrome rain shower head, completes the space.

No kitchen. Guests are invited to the main house whenever the mood strikes them.

And the perfect reason to venture back and make opportunities happen.

Tomorrow.

I bump the door closed with my hip, shake off my sandals, then shimmy out of the tight red dress. The material falls in a heap at my feet but I don’t dare bend to snatch it up, those tequila shots seriously upending my equilibrium. Stepping out of the material, I stretch my arms forward for balance and zombie-walk in the darkness toward my bed, which is furthest from the door.

Alone.

Light of head, light in spirit.

Feeling reckless.

What I should be doing instead of the zombie walk is the walk of shame. Where did the handsome hunk with Superman’s buns disappear to? Maybe he’s in a bungalow close by? Do I want him to be in the bungalow close by . . . within proximity to me and my lustful thoughts?

Do I dare seek him out?

My heart races at the naughty idea.Tomorrow. When your head is clearer you can restrategize the perfect introduction.

I inhale deeply and move over to the side of my bed. A wonderfully tantalizing hint of citrus fills in the air. The maids must have sprayed some kind of orange-infused air freshener layered with a hint of spice. Bringing the outdoors inside. And I plan to do the same because since I can’t gaze at the stars, I’ve decided to dream about them.

Stars and oranges and sexy bad boys.

The bedside light abruptly turns on.

I squeal and jump, my mouth falling open with disbelief. Temptation is here . . . tonight . . .in my bed.

“Oh,” I hear myself gasp.

Seconds pass as his eyes rake over me, down to my toes and back up to my face.

All I can do is stare at him, falling into stunned silence.

“You’ve got a beautiful body,chavita.”

Naked. I’m naked. I immediately fold an arm across my chest and hang a hand in front of my crotch. “What are you doing in here?” I murmur. Up close, he’s even more gorgeous. Breathtakingly so, with lips plump for kissing and eyes the color of caramel.

Except they’re the opposite of sweet.