Page 28 of Rio (Knight Empire #3)

RIO

I open the door wide and let Raquel pass through. She walks in, looking uncertain, her skin dewy, her vest sticking to her like a second skin, making it impossible to not think about what’s underneath.

She looks way too sexy and desirable in her frayed denim shorts. I already know that this evening is going to be trouble. It’s going to be torture and I’ll willingly endure it because there’s something about this woman that makes it impossible for me to walk away.

“I’ll only need an hour, if that.” She drops her laptop bag on the sofa as she surveys my suite.

She kicks off her sneakers, then starts untying her bun, and long, wavy hair cascades down her back like a waterfall.

“No need to strip on my behalf, princesa. You’re here to work, remember?

” I can’t help but grin. She’s ice cold and professional in front of people, and she was in her element at the community hall, doing what she does best. But now, here, just me and her, she softens, like she did last night at the lagoon.

That’s the real Raquel, without her high walls and armor wrapped around her like a defense shield.

“It’s hot,” she says. I turn the AC up to max.

“If you need to shower, knock yourself out.” I gesture in the direction of my glass-walled, slate-tiled and oversized walk-in shower.

She bunches her hair back into a bun. “This isn’t that night, Knight.”

“It can be anything you want, princesa.” I raise a brow, watching her.

She’s perfection, she’s everything, and she’s here.

I wish we could quit this pretence and admit how we feel, instead of dancing around one another, treading water like we did in the lagoon.

I wish we could get down and dirty in the trenches. Fuck like feral animals.

And just like that, my cock twitches.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shoots back. “I’m only here because you have Wi-Fi and AC, and I need to work.”

“There’s my desk.” I head towards it and move my papers and laptop out of the way. “Take as long as you want.”

“I won’t need it for too long. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

“I like having you in my hair.” I waggle my brows. She looks away hastily. Because she’s feeling something.

“What’s the password?” She opens her laptop.

I walk up behind her, and lean over her, my arms bracketing her on either side, my cheek almost pressed against hers as I slowly start to type.

I feel the warmth of her skin, even without touching her.

I smell the fresh fruity smell of her shampoo.

Or maybe it’s her shower gel. An image of her lathering herself all over under the shower circles around my addled brain, and it’s no wonder I mess up my password.

It takes me three tries to get it right.

“Just write it down,” she protests, albeit weakly, shifting in the seat.

“It’s Knightalwayswins,” I say, as casually as I can, while the blood in my body shoots south, rendering my brain ineffective.

“Y-you should have just written i-it down.”

“It’s a combination of numbers and letters.” I’ve finished typing, but I can’t bring myself to move away.

“Knight always wins. Seriously?” she cries, but her protest, like her laugh, feels a little forced.

I slowly straighten and move away. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

She says nothing, but whips out her folders and documents, and sets to work. I leave her to it, but first I grab a cold bottle of water out of the mini-fridge and place it next to her.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her eyes flitting from her document to the screen. She types fast, her fingers flying across the keyboard, and I watch as I move away. Raquel sitting at my desk, in my hotel room, feels soothing, feels right.

She belongs here.

I wish our interactions weren’t only about work. I wish we could move on to other things, more important things.

Us things.

The things she’s denying.

I leave her to it, before she looks up and thinks I’m a freak, watching her, so I decide to have a shower. I was fresh and cool when I left here, but after being in her hotel room, I’m disgustingly sweaty again, despite the AC in my room cooling me down.

I need a shower, like I need air to breathe. I’m all coiled up with need, hard as steel, and I need to take care of it.

***

RAQUEL

It’s cool in here. The AC is working perfectly. I have Wi-Fi, but I still can’t concentrate.

Despite the cool temperature, there is so much heat around me, in the space Rio left. My body vibrates and hums with need, and now that I’m feeling cooler, now that I’m not melting, I realize that this was a bad mistake.

Terrible.

Catastrophic.

I can’t concentrate because all I can think of is him.

It felt like forever when he typed in the Wi-Fi password, and then he hovered around, watching me. I could have won an Oscar with the acting I did, pretending to type, pretending to get on with my work.

I was typing gibberish and my thoughts were all over the place, but then he left, and I was relieved.

I hear the sprinkling of water and wonder why he needs to have a shower now of all times.

This leads to a different kind of frustration.

One which has me pressing my thighs together hard.

And then, naturally, it lands; the thought and the image of Rio in the shower, butt naked, only a few feet away from me.

I stop typing. The hard-won zen like feeling escapes as quickly as it came and blood courses through me, pooling south below my belly.

I imagine joining him, standing under the showerhead, embroiled in a kiss as rivulets of water spurt down on us.

Closing my eyes, I picture his mouth dropping to my breast. He starts to suck, one hand reaching between my legs, making me squirm in my chair.

I hear a noise. It sounded more like a grunt.

And then I think I hear my name. Can’t be.

I’m imagining it. But another grunt follows.

Curious, I get up and walk over to the bathroom door, wishing I could see inside.

Pressing my ear to the door, I relish the coolness of it, but a second later, I hear my name again, on Rio’s tongue.

My insides jolt and I shrink back from the door, like it’s on fire.

I know exactly what he’s doing in there.

I’m so flustered and so aroused. The images were already in my head, but hearing my name, and those deeply feral groans, knowing what he’s doing, makes me ache in places I shouldn’t.

My skin tightens, my breath turns shallow, and every nerve ending is heightened and tuned to the sound of the water hitting tile.

Heat pools between my thighs, knowing what he’s stroking. Suddenly, I long to stroke him, too.

I stand there, paralyzed. Knowing that only a wooden door separates us both. He’s naked, and wet, and sated now. What I wouldn’t give to ...

The water stops running, and I quickly tiptoe back to the chair, and pretend to be hard at work. But what I’m really doing is trying to steady my breathing. To throw imaginary cold water over my arousal. I hear the door open, so I start typing, breathing in and out slowly. Hoping he won’t notice.

“That’s better.”

I turn around, because, how could I not? My willpower is shot. Always is around this man.

The devil who’s trying to kill me by torture quickly grabs a shirt from his suitcase, but he doesn’t put it on.

He’s wearing only lounge shorts, and he’s barefoot.

Damp chest, damp hair. Shiny rivulets of water runs down his pecs.

A smattering of dark hairs leads from his navel downwards into the delicious V shape at his lower region.

He’s holding his t-shirt and now he walks over to me, trying to torture me with his scent, his heat, his body. All I can think about is what he was doing in that bathroom, and how badly I wanted to be there with him.

“You hot?” He’s about to roll the white T over his head, and I wish he’d hurry up and do it.

“What?” I try to act nonchalant.

“You look flustered.”

I swipe a hand across my back, feel my breasts turn heavy, my panties soaked. I rub my temple. “This is impossible.” I stare at the blameless screen and pour fault on it.

“What is?”

“Work,” I manage to say, as he rolls the t-shirt down, then swipes his hands through his long hair, slicking it back. It falls with a middle parting, framing his face. I feel a slickness in my panties.

“Need some more water?” he asks, then sees that the bottle is still half-full. He saunters over to the mini-bar, while I take this opportunity to admire him from behind. He grabs a bottle of water and slowly returns, twisting the plastic top and taking a big gulp.

That’s when I notice his pants are starting to tent again.

I bite back a gasp as he puts the lid back on the bottle, and sets it on the desk, He leans on the edge, too close again and I’m caught in a thrum of desire.

A magic spell weaves around me, reeling me in, and the air becomes charged with something prickly.

Our eyes lock.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asks, smiling softly. Not the usual smug tug of his lips. No joking around. He’s refreshingly honest and bare in this moment.

I’m a fly caught in a web of lust. “Maybe.”

“Have you noticed how we keep running into one another? You keep pushing me away, and I keep trying to forget you, and then I run into you again.”

I try to swallow, but my throat constricts. “It’s a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Then, what are you saying?”

This isn’t about the resort, or the community meeting. It’s about him and me. I realize in that moment that Rio isn’t the sharp, slick, mafia-like personality who has no heart.

Rio is all heart.

He feels.

He cares.

And he’s looking at me like I’m the answer to his prayers.

“You care about this work,” he says quietly, nodding at my documents.

“I care passionately about people who get trampled on. For people who can’t fight for themselves. For me, I see law as a weapon for the voiceless.”

He nods. “I like that about you. I admire you for it.”