“Or I could just kick you out of the room I’ve paid for to let you fend for yourself?”
The way her eyes go wide with fear tells me that the danger could just as easily be due to her and why she’s hiding. But the stubbornness kicks in yet again. I see the defiance color her face, meaning I’m going to have to work to get her to talk.
What the hell is so important she has to keep quiet, despite everything?
Diabla seems more applicable a name than ever.
Right now, I’d happily strangle her.
Instead, I try a different tactic.
“Enrique. That’s my real name.” It’s common enough in Spain that it shouldn’t give too much away. I could tell when I first gave her the name Ricardo she knew it was fake. There’s also a part of me that, for some reason, wants her to use my real name when she finally starts talking.
The blink of surprise in her eyes as I now reveal it means I’ve at least pierced that code of secrecy she seems intent on holding onto.
“Whatever you’re worried about, whoever is after you, I’m your best shot at staying safe. I have no interest in what it is you’re hiding. None. In fact, I may be the one who can get you to safety. I have certain…skills and resources at my disposal. You might as well at least give me a name.”
Her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth as she stares off to the side to consider that. She briefly closes her eyes and sighs, releasing her lip to speak.
“Leira.”
Lay-EAR-ah.
I read her, trying to find out if that’s real or fake. If it is a pseudonym, it’s an odd one for her to pull out of thin air. Something in her gaze confirms it for me, it’s real.
“Okay, that’s a start,” I say.
I relax now that she seems to be coming around. The next order of business is our safety. I’ve secured all the locks to the door. Now I just need something in the way of a weapon. I don’t curse myself for leaving my gun on my boat. Bringing it ashore is a risk, even if I’d give anything to have it with me now.
My eyes fall to the minibar, landing on the full bottles of wine offered. I can feel Leira’s eyes on me as I walk over to grab one. A brief smile of amusement touches my lips when I see the incredulous look on her face.
“Not to worry. The last thing either of us needs is more alcohol,” I say before passing her to head to the bathroom.
I grab one of the hand towels and wrap it once around the lower part of the bottle, then slam it against the edge of the tub. That’s enough to crack it, with the towel catching most of the shards. The red liquid seeps through the cloth and down toward the drain.
After gently unwrapping the towel, I bundle it up and toss it into the trashcan. Let the hotel charge me for it. The sharp peak that sticks out from what’s left below the neck of the bottle creates a decent, makeshift weapon.
When I walk back into the suite with it, Leira’s eyes go wide at first, probably thinking I plan on using it on her.
“Just in case they make it past the door.”
Her mouth works as she seems to struggle with talking before she finally says, “I need one.”
Three more words. That’s progress. Not enough for me to give her a weapon. “If they make it past me and this thing, I doubt you’d be any more effective.”
She glares at me, then walks over to grab the other bottle for herself.
I sigh and reach out to grab it from her as she passes. She may have a point. If the worst happens, I want her to be able to defend herself. “Fine, let me do it. There’s an art to it.”
“You think I don’t know how to make a shiv?” She says with a smirk.
Tilting my head to consider her, I respond, “I think you just might.”
I hand the bottle back to her and follow her into the bathroom. Leira looks around, noting the cloth in the trashcan and the red rivulets still making their way to the drain in the tub.
She reaches for the second-hand towel and eyes me warily, as though she’d rather not have an audience for this. I simply raise my eyebrow in response, crossing my arms as I lean in the doorway. She frowns, then goes to work wrapping the towel around the bottom of the bottle.
Leira brings it down into the bottom of the tub for some reason with impressive force—a force that shatters almost all of the bottle.
I laugh as she yelps and springs back in surprise, rising up with barely anything left of the neck in her hand.
“I suppose that will have to do,” I say, as I stare at the jagged edge of the bottle neck. “You might even get a scratch or two in.”
Her mouth tightens with displeasure. “Maybe I could start by practicing on you.”
I simply hold my own makeshift weapon up for her inspection. “I look forward to that battle.”
She stares at me like she actually would try to use it on me. Something about it is fiercely erotic. Why does she always turn me on so much more when she’s fighting me?
Now that I’ve heard her speak more than just a single word, I realize she has an alluring voice. There was a hint of it when she said her name. It sounds like something my ears could get addicted to. It’s a soft, sensual timbre with a subtle scratch running through it, giving the sound a slightly wicked texture, the kind that warns you away even as it draws you in. Attached to someone so seemingly innocent—visions of those nun vestments now taunt me more than ever—make it
