“Obviously,” Antonio muttered. “But I thought I’d escort you to dinner.”
“Why?”
The man before her gave an exasperated sigh, leaned forward and picked up her hand, and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “Must you always argue? Come on.”
Charly followed. She couldn’t even make a smart-ass reply about his suit. He wasn’t wearing one. Antonio was, however, sporting a crisp white shirt that set off his tan in attractive contrast. And it was tucked into dark jeans, obviously not an ounce of fat on this man. And for the first time since she’d met him, she really, really wanted to look at how those jeans clung to his ass.
Aware how they were walking slowly, she attempted to hasten her steps.
“What’s the rush?” Antonio held her back.
“Ida said seven.”
“She’s running behind,” he replied. “And in answer to your question, Oscar is helping her out.”
Charly had to stop herself from leaning into Antonio. He smelled so good. It didn’t escape her that his hair was still damp, and his masculine scent of wood and citrus was so clean, she couldn’t help inhaling deeply.
She wondered if it was her imagination or had his breathing hitched.
She glanced up. “So, explain to me what it’s like at dinner time in the Andrade household?”
“It’s simple. Ida rules the house and the kitchen,” Antonio said. “Renata, Luis, and Nico don’t live here. But they come for dinner typically once a week. I’ll warn you though, there might be tension tonight.”
“Renata and Ida?”
There was a smile in Antonio’s voice. “Renata told you?”
“Only that Ida doesn’t like her … and you don’t need to tell me why. I don’t want to know.” There was enough tension in her situation that she didn’t need other people’s personal problems on top of that. Not her business. “Besides, I’m not expecting to stay here for long … even if I accept your offer. I mean what’s the point, right?”
They arrived at the top of the steps and Antonio turned her around in his arms. Shit. Bad timing to taunt him when the stairs yawned before them.
“I don’t like the look on your face,” he said as he studied her.
“What look?”
“Like I’m about to throw you down the steps.”
“That thought did cross my mind,” she admitted.
Antonio’s face came closer. “I’m not a monster, Dr. Bennett.”
“Monsters come in many forms,” she whispered. Including hot Latino types. There, bathed in moonlight from windows arching from a domed roof, Antonio appeared more like a fallen angel. Gorgeous, dark, and forbidding. She swallowed.
“I can see your pulse racing.” Warm fingers wrapped around her throat. “I can feel it. Are you scared of me?”
She gulped again, but this time it was to get saliva going in her mouth because it had gone dry. “Scared, no. More like wary.” She gave a nervous laugh. “You’ve done nothing but threaten me since I got here. And it feels like you want to strangle me.”
He slowly unclasped his fingers, caressing slightly down her throat until he finally dropped his hand to his side. The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “That thought did occur to me. You’re an aggravating woman.”
“Sure, and you’re such a walk in the park.”
He sighed. “Do you always have to have the last word?”
Charly had to laugh at that. “It’s a flaw of mine. Carillo found the only way to shut me up was to smack me.” The man before her froze and his face grew scarily angry.
“He hit you?” The question was asked so quietly, it was almost a whisper, but the undercurrent of rage beneath it was palpable.
“I shouldn’t have blurted that out like that.” She had to glance away. Antonio’s reaction to her statement was not only unnerving, it also made her uneasy. She was nothing to him, simply a pawn. His outrage seemed like hypocrisy considering he’d kidnapped her for his own agenda.
“Look at me, Dr. Bennett.”
With much difficulty, she complied.
“Never, never be afraid to speak your mind in my presence.”
She blew out a breath. “Okay.”
“I will never raise a hand to you.”
This time, she nodded silently.
But then the air between them suddenly changed, and a gleam entered his eyes. His face inched closer. “I do, however, have other means of effectively shutting you up.”
Startled, she stepped back. “Excuse me?”
Antonio laughed briefly and offered his arm again. “Come on, Doctor. I have a feeling Ida is ready for us.”
4
Renata and Luis were busy catching up Antonio on the business end of things—something about the unveiling of a COPD drug, while Ida was clearly happy that Nico was home. Charly’s first impression of her was not one of a doting housekeeper, but more of a mother superior at a convent. With her son, all her stern features softened. It was evident in the way she patted Nico’s mop of curly hair while asking him about his day.
Oscar came into the kitchen and set a basket at each end of the table. “Ida, the roasts are ready.”
While Ida left them alone to follow him back into the kitchen, Nico turned to her. “So, you’re the one who caused us all this heartburn, eh?” His English was impressive and without an accent, as though he’d gone to school in America. Though it was easy to see that Nico was Ida’s son, he had a lighter complexion. And while he had the shape of her eyes, his were gray to her golden brown. He wore squarish glasses and a white golf shirt with jeans, so Charly had company in the casual department. She pegged his age between mid to late twenties. He had geek written all over him, but a shrewd edge that told Charly not to underestimate him when it came to street smarts.
“Innocent until proven guilty,” Charly quipped. “All you have is an email that’s similar to my name. Suspicious, isn’t it?”
“But Carillo thought you were useful,” Nico said. “What is it like being captive to a cartel? Were you scared?”
How could she explain it?
