Page 55 of Sins of the Orchid

I fell in love with this place in one, single breath. The place was heaven. It kind of reminded me of Mr. Russo and Santi. Definitely not Adriano. He hated to read with a passion. The place even smelled like Santi.

I curled up in the chair, tucking my legs beneath the linen of my dress, and pulled the book off the little coffee table. It was like someone was here and left it there to come back to. Was it Mr. Russo? Or Santi?

Flipping it over, I read the description of it. Cartel and drug smuggling of South America. Frowning, I almost set it back down, but something nudged me forward to open the book and start reading it. The dangers, cruelty, murders, massacres, greed… it was all laid out with one of the most dangerous cartels of South America. It was kind of ironic that someone from the Russo family was reading this book when they probably worked with similar kinds of men.

The Perèz Cartel. The Carrera Cartel.

My heart hammered as my eyes skimmed the pages, seeing the names I recognized. My grandfather’s, great-grandfather’s.

The book was so engrossing, I didn’t hear the door open, nor click shut, nor did I hear the footsteps that followed. The tingling sensation of being watched had me glancing up from my book to find Santi’s eyes staring at me.

“Santi.” I jumped up, my feet tangling against the hem of my dress, and I would have nosedived straight into the carpet if he hadn’t caught me.

His strong arms shot out and wrapped around my waist, pulling me back up as I fumbled against him. We both froze at the same time. The smell of his cologne was familiar, and adrenaline shot through my system, pushing my heart rate into overdrive.

“Last time I caught you like this, you got sick all over me,” he said, his tone a mixture of deep timbre and smooth liquor washed over me. The suffocating heat from his touch threatened to combust.

I looked up, willing my breaths to come out steady, and caught the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

“Ah, you had to go and ruin the moment,” I teased him in a slightly breathless tone. My pulse drummed in my ears, and my heart tripped up at his closeness. I laid my hand on his forearm to steady myself. I was painfully aware of his strength, his touch sending a hum of electricity through every fiber of my body. And his heat! It was making me lightheaded. Correction.Hewas making me lightheaded.

It was wrong. My body’s unwilling reaction to his closeness.

If I was smart, I would excuse myself and leave, but my body refused to listen. This crushing after Santi would be the death of me. “I’m really sorry for your loss, Santi.”

His eyes locked on my hand, and I feared that maybe I shouldn’t be that familiar. After all, last time we parted on not-so-great terms. I quickly pulled my hand back while his words rang in my ears.Mistake.He called kissing me a mistake.

His dark eyes locked with mine, the gravity of his gaze trapping me in its depths. I always felt safe around Santi but never comfortable. Something about him always unnerved me. Maybe it was the fact that he was so handsome with his broad shoulders and tattooed hand that had killed who knew how many people. Or maybe it was the darkness I sensed around him, the dominant energy all around him.

“Thank you.” His voice was rough. “I think I need a drink.”

He went to turn around, but I quickly stopped him, my hand reaching for his sleeve.

“Here, sit down,” I told him, nudging him towards my chair. “I’ll get it for you. Just tell me what you’re drinking.”

A small smile played on his lips again. “Okay. I’ll have whiskey” He tilted his head to the corner on the opposite side of the room. “The mini bar is there.”

I hurried across the floor, my feet still bare and footsteps silent on the rug.

“This house is beautiful,” I told him, glancing over my shoulder. He sat in my chair… no, his chair that I occupied earlier.

“You’ve grown up, Amore.”

I almost dropped the glass I had picked up. It was best not to comment on that.

“What kind of whiskey?” I asked, lowering down on my knee and scouting through the assortment.

“Michter’s,” he answered. I focused on the task of selecting the right bottle. “Two fingers.”

“Ice?”

“Please.”

I added two cubes of ice from the bucket to his drink and poured two fingers of whiskey into it. As I walked back to him, his eyes darkened, locked on me. The way he looked at me made me feelhotinside. His deep brown eyes were the same color of the whiskey that swirled in the glass, and when the light hit them just right, with thick, dark lashes that gave him a sharp expression, it was hard not to feel unnerved as he watched you.Allhis focus on you. Combine that with an unhealthy crush, it was deadly.

Gently sloshing in the glass, the clinking ice woke me from my stupor. I handed him the drink, our fingers brushing against each other, sending an electric buzz straight through me.

I took a step back and leaned against the windowsill, watching him take a sip of whiskey and suddenly I felt thirsty for a stiff drink. Though I hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since that tequila night with Adriano.