It was the first time Ariana had seen the kitchen devoid of the hum of activity. At the farm table was Abbi Mena, Delia, and Migs. None of Migs’ sisters were around. When she walked into the kitchen, her husband looked up from shoveling food from a bowl, and the way his expression softened at the sight of her made her heart skip.
Goodness, Ari. It was just a look.
It wasn’t even his heated look; it was more of an affectionate one… one could even say there was love.
“Where’s ev..everyone?” she stammered.
“What? You haven’t had enough of the five Marias?” Abbi Mena smiled. She pushed back from the table and headed to the refrigerator.
“Twins and Bella are still asleep. Apparently, you’re not the only one who had one too many mojitos.” Migs took a sip of his coffee. “How’s the head?”
“It’s making me pay for last night,” she said sheepishly.
“You have to forgive my twins. They turned twenty-one and they couldn’t wait to try all kinds of cocktails,” Delia said.
“That was over a year ago,” Migs reminded her.
“Is it?” Delia said in wonder, taking a sip from her cup. “It feels like yesterday.”
“They say they are model students when they are at Berkeley.” Abbi Mena walked back and handed her a glass of pale-yellow liquid. “Drink this.”
“What is it?”
She smiled mysteriously. “Figure it out.”
Ariana gave a puff of laughter and lowered herself to the chair Migs slid back for her. Taking a tentative taste, she knew immediately what was in it. Jose gave her a similar concoction when she snuck out to party when she was fourteen. “Sugarcane juice and ginger?” She smacked her lips a couple of times. “Lime?”
Abbi Mena smiled serenely at Migs. “You picked well. Your wife fits right in with our family.”
“Oh, Mami, don’t pressure them about the need to fit in,” Delia chided. “As long as Migs and Ariana are happy together, we’re happy for them, right?”
“Were you not happier when you had children?”
“It was a different kind of happiness,” Delia said, her gaze softening, and then she reached out and covered abuelita’s hand. “And then you came to stay with us. Made us more complete.”
“You’re just happy you have someone to cook for your big family.” She turned to look at Migs and her. “And I hope I’ll live to cook for your little ones, too. Like I said the first day, your children will be strong and beautiful. Good hips, your Ariana.”
She felt heat creep up her cheeks.
“Mami, leave them alone. You sound like a horse breeder.”
“Nonsense.” Abbi Mena gave a wave of her hand.
“You two need to spend some time away from family,” Delia said.
Migs chuckled. “We just got here.”
“I mean lunch. It’s going to be a cloudy day, not too hot. Rare in July. It won’t rain,” Delia said. “Go to the stream, hmm? There’s a good picnic spot.”
“Where the Ficus tree is?”
Delia nodded. “You won’t miss it.”
It was a setup. Although Ariana was ready to be alone with her husband again, she had an inkling that Delia knew more about their arrangement than what they presented to his family. Ariana thought she was doing her part well. She wasn’t flinching anymore when Migs put his hand on her waist and tugged her close.
It felt … natural.
Their situation was confusing her, but maybe it was her fault by going along with Migs when he hinted he wanted to make this real and not asking him how real he wanted this to be.
As Delia sent them off with a basket of food, and with the family standing in a line at the back of the patio as if seeing them off, it was almost comical … like “Shoo …Go be alone and have your honeymoon.”
They walked silently along a path that rimmed the corn fields, Migs helping her over uneven terrain. Sneakers were becoming her favorite footwear.
“Sorry about that,” he muttered when they disappeared from his family’s line of sight.
She laughed lightly. “Your mom doesn’t do subtle, does she?”
Migs didn’t reply, just continued to walk.
“Does she know?”
He stopped moving and faced her. “She knows I married you to protect you.”
“Oh.” She stared off in the distance. “I guess it’s not so hard to figure that out.”
“Never had a serious girl. Never brought home a girlfriend.” He grinned wryly. “Guess I didn’t prepare them for anything.”
“Wow! Go big or go home, huh? You surprised them with a wife.”
The sun escaped the clouds and blistered them with its heat. “Come on.” His hand on her waist was firmer now and lost its earlier tentativeness.
“Do the rest of your family know?”
“What do you bet they’re making speculations now?”
“Well, if your mom is pushing you to spend time with me—”
“I care about you, Ariana. I care about you enough to give you my name to protect you.”
“Is that what you told your mother?”
“Yes.”
“She was okay with that?”
Migs exhaled in frustration. “She is. Everyone likes you. Everyone told me not to fuck this up.”
Conversation momentarily ceased when they arrived at the tree line and he had to help her down a steep bank. At the bottom of the mound, her eyes widened as she took in the beauty of their surroundings.
“This is still your property?”
“Yup. Don’t worry. Our land extends past the stream, but it’s more valley and not as flat. Need an all-terrain vehicle to explore. It’s fun. I’ll take you around some time.”
“This offers a lot of privacy.”
A teasing tone entered his voice. “Why? What did you have in mind?”
She gave him the side-eye. “Food. I hardly ate this morning.”
Concern furrowed his brows. “How’s your hangover?”
“Cured within an hour of taking that sugarcane brew. Ariana-zero, Abbi Mena-one.”
Migs burst out laughing. “Is there a competition between you and abuelita?”
She smiled. “Not really. You can call it a difference of opinion.”
“You’re both opinionated.”
“I’m a very agreeable person.”
The look Migs shot her gave her a clear idea what he thought about that statement.
Ariana bit back a smile.
They continued plodding along until they reached the Ficus tree Delia described to them. It was over forty feet tall, maybe more and almost as wide.
“It’s kind of bumpy over here but there’s enough space between the roots to have a picnic.” Migs set aside the basket and spread a colorful Aztec printed blanket over the ground. He flipped open the lid of the basket and showed Ariana its contents—bread, cheese and lunch meat items, including a bottle of wine.
“Mamá said you’ve had enough Mexican food coming out of your ears since we arrived. Time for a break.” He smiled when her face lit up. “Missed bread, did you?”
“And butter.” She could feel the saliva pooling at the underside of her tongue as he set the crusty round boule on the small cutting board. When he cut a piece and handed her one, she held it to her nose and inhaled. There was nothing like the aroma of fresh bread.
She realized her eyes were closed, because when she blinked hers open, Migs was staring at her with that familiar heat in his eyes. Like she was the meal and not what was in the picnic basket.
“What?” she challenged.
“I thought you were about to have an orgasm.” He returned his attention to the task at hand. “You know you ruined my plans last night,” he added conversationally.
“What plans?” she asked, slathering a generous amount of butter on the bread.
“I was saving a popsicle to use on you.”
Her heart started to race. “What did you have in mind?”
Her v
oice was breathless, and warmth bloomed between her thighs. Done with cutting the loaf, Migs set the knife aside, reached into the basket again and unearthed a blocky kitchen towel. Unwrapping that, he revealed two paletas between reusable ice packs. He confused her when he stashed it back into the basket.
“Those are going to melt.”
“That’ll depend on you.”
“Me?”
All humor and heat disappeared from his face, replaced by an expression akin to resoluteness. His eyes held hers prisoner like an interrogator about to ask the most difficult question. From a kneeling position, he leaned forward, caging her in, his face inches away.
“You.”
She swallowed, cursing the bite of bread she’d eaten for stealing the moisture in her mouth, or maybe it was Migs and his very dark, determined eyes.
“I don’t like this state of limbo in our marriage,” he said.
“I—”
“Circling around each other. Like we’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“But it’s true,” she argued. “We’re waiting for Carillo to make a move.”
“And then what, Ari? After you’re safe, we divorce?”
“Migs, that was the plan. You laid it out like that. Why are you—” she caught herself. He hated the word ‘complicated’ to describe them and judging from the narrowing of his eyes, he knew she was about to say that. “And you reminded me yesterday that I was not family. Not really.”
“Ah, so we’re getting to the root of why you froze me out yesterday.” He moved from in front of her and sat beside her. “But if you remember, I said the opposite. You are family, Ari, but somehow you managed to twist it in your head.”
“Why is it always me?” She angled her gaze at him.
“Remember the first night we were here? I told you I wanted to make you my wife in every way. That was why I was taking this slow.”
“I don’t think you understand the word slow.”
He grunted. “It’s hard when we share the same bedroom and, before you banish me back to the floor, I refuse to go about this the wrong way.”
“We did start this the wrong way.”
“My grandparents’ marriage was an arranged one.”
This surprised her, but then again, arranged marriages weren’t uncommon in Mexico.
“And it worked,” Migs stressed. “And we are way ahead of them at this point if we’re doing comparisons.”
She could feel herself turn red.
“I’m not talking about the sex,” he said.
“We haven’t had sex.”
“Stop reminding me. You made me sleep on the floor on our wedding night.” An aggrieved expression appeared on his face.
Ariana slapped a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing aloud, but she ended up snorting one out anyway.
“I’ll never live that down. It’s an affront to the Alcantara pride.”
“You mean the macho image.”
He scowled. “We’re getting off topic. Again. You seem to have a way of making me forget why I wanted to clear things up.”
“The status quo is fine.”
“Is it? Admit it. You were pissed yesterday when I couldn’t tell you my problem with Cesar.”
“All you had to say was it was family business.”
“And you keep insisting you’re not family and it’s annoying as hell.”
“I’m annoying?”
“It’s a slap to my face, Ari. Think about it. I gave you my name, and you’re throwing it back at me. My family has taken you in as their own. I’m not expecting gratitude. It was no hardship marrying you. I know I let you think it was just temporary, but I’m realizing this charade we thought we’re going to keep up? I can’t do it. I can’t pretend to be your husband and not show you what it means to be one. It’s fucking with my head. It’s fucking with my family. I was an idiot to think it was easy to pretend.”
His eyes singed into hers as she realized her lungs had not expunged air the whole time he was speaking.
“I’m starting to care for you something deep.” He took her hand and placed it palm down over his chest. “In here. And before we fuck this all up, we need to make a decision. If you think you can’t feel something for me in return, I’ll continue to give you the protection of the Alcantara name, but we can’t lie to my immediate family. I need to move out of our bedroom, and we certainly cannot sleep in the same bed because I can’t promise I wouldn’t be balls deep inside you if you make the mistake of draping yourself all over me and humping that pussy on my hand when you’re having a sexy dream.”
Her cheeks were flaming now. “Is that what happened?”
“Last night.” He clipped, his breathing turning rough. “Yes. Why did you think I put a pillow between us? You can’t seem to stay on your side of the bed. Don’t get me wrong. It was the sweetest torture, but know there will be consequences, and I don’t want to be accused of taking advantage of my wife.”
He dropped her hand and she noticed how his own shook until he clenched them into fists. She knew Migs was attracted to her, but she thought it was a natural attraction of a man to a woman, but now it seemed so much more. Like he was a powder keg about to explode. Did she do this to him?
The word tease reared its ugly head.
She reminded herself that he was her husband and if the constriction of her clothes was anything to go by, her attraction to him was as combustible as his was.
The idea of what she did last night in the throes of a wet dream she didn’t remember, rubbing herself on him … made her incredibly hot. An unfulfilled arousal pulsed between her legs. A heat that needed to be cooled.
By his tongue.
The popsicle.
Oh, God, she was in danger of bursting into flames.
Why was she so scared to make the jump? He was right. They were awful actors. Their interaction since the beginning had been real. Feelings were getting muddled and their relationship needed to get out of limbo.
Migs had been staring at the stream as her mind battled against itself, but now he glanced at her, eyes guarded. He appeared in control of himself again. “So, what is it gonna be, babe? In. Or out.”
It was an ultimatum.
But it was also a survival.
Of her life.
Of her emotions.
Because she couldn’t deny that her heart was falling fast for the man before her.
Not just any man.
Her husband.
“Miguel,” she whispered, shifting to her knees, she leaned over and extracted an ice pop from the basket.
His eyes flared with heat as the implication of her actions left nothing to interpretation.
She was in.
“Come here,” he invited, guiding her to straddle his lap. A pained look flashed across his face, but with it was measured control. Her slacks were made of linen. They were flimsy and she felt the roughness of his jeans beneath her crotch. She held the popsicle right in front of his face and gave a slow lick from the underside of it where it was starting to melt, and all the way to the top.
“You’re killing me, babe,” he groaned as he shifted her closer. She put the tip of the popsicle to his mouth and he took it, taking off the edge, he played with the chunk in his mouth. She rocked gently against him as she licked and sucked the popsicle.
A growl vibrated deep in his chest as his fingers deftly unbuttoned her blouse. She gasped as his palm slipped into her bra and cupped a breast, flicking a nipple with his thumb. Then his other hand brought the cold dessert back to his lips giving it another swipe before he filled his mouth with her breast. She shuddered as his cold tongue swirled around her nipple. Goosebumps raised on her skin, but her body was ablaze with need.
The popsicle was dissolving rapidly into her fingers as Miguel plundered each breast and then her back was on the blanket, the paleta gone from her hand.
“Don’t want to waste this,” he murmured as he hovered above her, licking her hand where the sweet
ness dripped.
Ariana was panting. The core of her throbbed with a need for release. “Miguel.”
“Ah, babe…. The way you say my name …”
He trailed the cold treat down her body, following with his icy kisses that made her hot all over. When he dipped it into her belly button, she almost came, her back arching with such force, she thought she’d cramp. Her sneakers were gone and, before she knew it, she was naked from the waist down, her legs were over his shoulders and he was licking her with ferocity. He swirled his tongue before spearing her entrance. All frozenness gone as the friction from their flesh chased away the chill. She writhed on the blanket, her fingers gripping the fabric as Miguel ate her pussy like it was his last meal on earth. Her orgasm crashed into her in one gigantic wave. She tried to muffle her cry with the back of her hand, but she moaned as the ripple of endless pulses quaked through her core. Over and over she came until Migs took one final swipe and climbed up her body.
“Delicious,” he muttered, lowering his head to capture her mouth in a long, languid kiss. He eased back, leaving her puzzled when he didn’t do anything else. She arched into his erection that was as hard as an iron rod and he grunted, moving it out of reach.
“Are you stopping again?”
He nodded, the clenching of his jaw worried her. Did she do something wrong?
“Did I scream too loud?”
A choked laugh gusted past his lips. “No, you didn’t. I love the sounds you make when you come.” His eyes searched her face, his fingers combing strands from her forehead. “I love making you come.”
“And I’ve yet to hold you at my mercy,” she grinned as she playfully slid her hand between them to touch the hardness he’d been keeping from her. She frowned when he snagged both her wrists and held them on either side of her head.
Her smile faded, confusion taking over. “What’s going on? Are you practicing some kind of abstinence? It’s not lent.”
He laughed again. “Even if it was, I’m a non-practicing Catholic.”
“Then what?” Releasing her wrists, he pushed away from her and picked up her slacks and panties, sliding them up her legs. Then he buttoned her blouse, patted it as though making sure she was neat and tidy.
Protector Of Convenience (Rogue Protectors Book 2) Page 13
