Page 11 of Thiago (Family Ties #6)

Chapter Eleven

S he had lied to him.

Thiago lowered the folder in his hand and stared at the closed door where India had exited moments before.

She had lied, or at the very least was being deceptive.

He pushed up from his chair and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Frowning, he stood in front of the window and looked out at the Atlanta skyline.

He suspected India was seeing someone else, which explained why she hadn’t been willing to see him when he was free last Friday. It explained why she gave evasive answers and was going to be busy yet again this coming Friday. Too busy for him.

Am I losing her?

The idea of India with another man was deeply unsettling. His nostrils flared, and he experienced a rush of emotion he couldn’t do anything to stop. It felt suspiciously like jealousy—a foreign concept—which gripped his body with harsh, sharp talons.

True enough, they weren’t in a committed relationship, but he didn’t like the thought of… sharing her. It sickened him to the core.

Thiago swung abruptly from the window, walked over to the bar, and fixed himself a whisky and Coke. He didn’t usually drink this early, but he needed the liquor as he pondered a situation he hadn’t considered happening—the possibility of losing India.

While his brothers believed he didn’t have relationships, he did—sort of.

He had lovers because, at this point in his life, his priority was work.

As a result, the women he had slept with over the years had never held his attention for very long.

When their time together ended, he had the concierge service send them a parting gift—a Van Cleef bracelet, Lorraine Schwarz diamond earrings, or a two-tone Cartier watch.

But India was different. He never once became bored with her, and they had fit together perfectly right from the start.

Thiago took a long sip of his drink, going back in time to when he was visiting from Brazil and had first seen India years ago. Back then, she had been working one floor below.

“Who’s that?” he had asked his father.

“The new director of marketing, India Monroe.”

Her hair was longer then. Hoop earrings peeked between the strands, which were parted on one side and framed her face in a neat arrangement of curls that touched her shoulders.

He’d been mesmerized by her chocolate-brown skin, full lips, high cheekbones, and those dark-brown eyes looking at him with very little interest.

He could count on one hand how many times he saw her after the initial encounter, including after she received the promotion to vice president of marketing for the U.S. and moved to the executive floor.

She was an attractive woman. He wasn’t blind. But he hadn’t had any intention of sleeping with her—until he came to town for Ethan and Skye’s wedding last July.

One Friday night, by chance, he walked into the sports bar down the street, and India was there. She had removed her blue jacket, exposing a blue sleeveless top that showed off arms with a hint of definition.

He joined her at her table. They ate together and had a few drinks. They shared a few laughs. They talked about business. They talked about current events.

At the end of the meal, he told himself that he was simply escorting her to her car in the parking deck to be a gentleman. But on the walk over, he knew he had been lying. He wanted her. Badly. He was consumed with the possibility of relieving his aroused body by thrusting into hers.

She was sharp, sexy, funny. If he had been reading the signals correctly, the attraction was mutual.

“Thank you for walking me to my car,” she had said, looking up at him with fuck-me eyes.

Desire crackled between them. There was no way he could walk away. He didn’t remember what he said to her. All he remembered was leaning in, and she didn’t put up a hand to halt him. She never whispered the words No or Stop .

When he kissed her, the pavement beneath his feet shifted.

He became consumed with need. He unbuttoned her pants right there in the parking deck and finger-fucked her until she spasmed uncontrollably.

As he sucked her neck, she panted through her orgasm, her cries soft and broken as her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

Afterward, he realized how dangerous their behavior had been. Anyone could have seen them, but at the time, he had only cared about making her come. All he could say in his defense was, “Goddammit. I didn’t plan to do this here, but you…”

Another passionate kiss followed his declaration, prompting her to invite him back to her place. They almost didn’t make it to the bedroom.

When she tried to lift off her blouse, he held her hand.

“No,” he said, his voice sounding guttural and hoarse. “Let me.”

Then he lifted the top over her head and tossed it to the floor. He pulled down her pants and surprised her by lowering to his knees and using his teeth to drag her blue cheeky below her hips.

They spent the rest of the night screwing each other’s brains out.

His tongue and hands came to know every inch of her body.

Her soft, walnut-tipped breasts. Her smooth thighs that spread wide to welcome him, and the sweet wetness between them that he never wanted anyone else to have the pleasure of tasting.

When he finally left, he was walking on clouds, but when he saw her the following Monday, she acted as if nothing had happened.

It drove him crazy, and he wanted her again. He’d spent the entire rest of the weekend thinking about her and the irresistible softness of her mouth, the scent of her skin, and the way she felt in his arms.

Then his father asked him to stay indefinitely, and he invited himself to her apartment on the following Friday night, and their Friday night hookups became the norm. They didn’t make any promises to each other, but meeting up became the perfect way to end the work week and de-stress.

Taking over Santana International would have been a lot more challenging without her to talk to.

And of course, he enjoyed making love to her.

She satisfied his appetite for sex and was just as unrestrained and devoted to pleasure as he was.

The shape and press of her slender fingers were permanently engraved on his skin.

Bottom line, Thiago couldn’t afford to have another man come between them. He wouldn’t tolerate it. He had to figure out who the hell this man was.

And get rid of him.