by Emma Renshaw
I turned off my phone after the fifth call. Nothing else mattered.
I never lost track of Harper, telling myself I was just worried about her safety. Part of me felt like her dad would slit my throat if I wasn’t watching after her. It doesn’t matter that we aren’t together anymore, on some level she’ll always be mine. The call came at the perfect time; I’ve been planning how to come back into her life.
Seeing her sleeping in her bed, blonde hair scattered all over her pillow, I took what felt like my first breath in years.
7
Harper
I throw the curtains closed when Roman looks up at the building. He didn’t see me. Please say he didn’t see me staring at him. How’s it fair he got even sexier after breaking my heart to smithereens? I shouldn’t have called him. It was a mistake and he didn’t have any answers for me.
I yelp when the doorbell to my apartment sounds. My nerves are still fried from seeing Roman after nearly a decade and not just seeing him, but waking up in the same bed as him. Who does that? My anger is squashed when the doorbell rings again.
I’d be nervous it could be Roman, but he wouldn’t ring the bell. He’d just barge in like he owns the damn place and everything inside, including me. He doesn’t though. Roman has no effect on me or anything else in my life. Nope. None at all. I’m just frazzled because it was a surprise, that’s all. His dark eyes with just a hint of softer, lighter brown doesn’t do anything to me. His muscled body doesn’t even register. Nope. None of it. Not even the way his eyes heated when they saw me.
The doorbell ringing for a third time pulls me from my thoughts. I suck in a sharp breath when I swing open the door.
“Rafael?”
“Chiquita.” Rafael smiles as takes a step forward, invading my space. “Invite me in?”
Hesitating for only a moment as Roman’s warning rings through my mind, I step back, allowing him past me. Rafael in his immaculate suit makes everything in my apartment appear run down. I’ve done the best I can with the small space, but as he looks around the room, his eyes are snagging on the chipped paint on the far wall and the water rings on my secondhand coffee table.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I awkwardly ask once he turns back to me, surveying me in much the same way as he did the apartment.
“No,” Rafael responds with his soft accent. “I would like to take you to brunch.”
“Why?” I blurt out. I might have plans. Who am I kidding? I have no plans and he knows it. Damn.
“I have already told you. You fascinate me.” He takes a step closer, and I take a step back, making him smile. I don’t think I fascinate him as much as I entertain him. I’m a mouse in this cat’s game.
I can use him, too, though. I need to know why Uncle Santiago wouldn’t tell me that he has a child. If Rafael and I grew up together, I would’ve thought of him as a cousin. For someone with no family to speak of, that’s huge.
“Sure. I’ll go get dressed.”
Rafael takes another step closer, but I don’t move this time. He’s so close, I can smell his musky scent. He leans toward me, hovering his face over mine as he whispers, “Wonderful. I’ll be waiting.” He watches me closely, waiting for a reaction. I have none. After seeing Roman this morning, Rafael doesn’t affect me the same as the other night. Rafael’s eyebrows scrunch together as leans closer.
I can’t deny his beauty, but I’m not drawn to him anymore. Damn Roman.
Backing up a step and turning on my heel, I rush out of the living room.
Rafael’s car is so luxurious. The soft, supple leather is smooth and silky under my fingers. I can’t stop caressing the seat under me. Inside the small, confined space, I’m surrounded by everything Rafael.
The car he guided me to in the parking garage is just like him. Smooth, sleek, and dangerous. Neither of us has spoken a word since he started driving. My words are lodged in my throat. Unable to speak, I turn my gaze to him, watching his profile as he drives. I search for any imperfection I can find, but continually come up empty. His jawline is structured and rigid, fitting together like a puzzle with his perfectly straight nose. Lips that are just the right size for his face. Not a single inky black hair is out of place.
I don’t leave the house until I feel like I’m a walking advertisement for my store. I live by the motto, If you look good, you feel good. Sitting next to Rafael, though, I can’t help but see the striking differences between us. His suit is obviously designer and perfectly tailored for him. If he told me it’s a custom-made suit, I wouldn’t be even the slightest bit surprised. A neon sign above my head flashes failure with arrows hitting each area of my body. Nude Valentino stilettos are second-hand. The scuff mark I spent hours polishing off the leather feels visible. My green sundress is cute and a new arrival at Harper Avenue. It’s well-made, but not tailored to fit my body or made just for me. My fake leather purse has a hole in the lining where I keep losing tubes of lipstick and coins.
If I were out to lunch with my girls, I would feel on top of the world, like I had on a great outfit for a great day, but sitting next to this man makes me feel like a knock-off version of myself. I want to run my hands through his hair to mess something up, make him get on my level a little bit. With my luck, I would take him from perfectly coiffed suit model look-alike to a pouty, just-tumbled-in-the-sheets underwear model.
“Why do you keep making that noise?” Rafael’s silky voice breaks me from my reverie.
“What noise?” I ask, confused.
He glances my way, taking a hand from the steering wheel and smoothing it across my brow. Each wrinkle is gently wiped away. “A frustrated sigh?”
“It’s nothing.”
“I wish you would tell me your worries.”
A plastic smile plasters itself on my face. Rafael’s insistence and immediate demands to know everything about me are starting to grate on my nerves. “I have no worries. Where are we going to brunch?”
As we pull up to a valet stand, I feel even more out of place standing next to Rafael. A seriously attractive man with a burgundy blazer opens my door and helps me out of the car. His blue eyes are sparkling in the sun but I feel nothing. Not even a low simmer. That’s what Roman does to me, waltzes into my life, making every other man pale in comparison. Rafael comes striding around the hood of the car, offering me his arm. Winding one arm through his and smoothing my dress with my other hand, I voice my concern. “Is what I’m wearing okay?”
“You’re perfection.” Rafael’s words are just a whisper against my ear.
The front doors are swung open for us by another great looking guy. I watch heat fill his eyes as he brazenly checks out my chest. A slow smirk appears on his face as he winks at me. But … nothing. Not an ounce of anything. Freaking Roman. A hostess is standing there with a huge, lovesick grin on her face. “Mr. Bazán, always wonderful to see you. We have your usual table ready for you.”
Rafael doesn’t even glance her way, keeping his curious eyes trained on me. Just the other day Rafael left me a bumbling mess when he stepped too close but today he has no effect on me. He’s wondering what happened.
“Thank you,” I quietly say to the waitress as we follow her to our table—a circular booth in the corner of the large restaurant. Quiet murmurs are the only thing that can be heard over the delicate instrumental music quietly playing through the speakers. Rafael holds his hand in front of him, telling me to move into the booth first. I slide in a little, expecting him to sit across from me, but he slides in next to me, his body pressed against mine. I slide farther into the booth to put more distance between us. Rafael doesn’t protest, but his chuckle sends heat to my face.
A waiter in a suit appears at our table the moment the hostess leaves. “Mr. Bazán, would you like your usual bottle today?”
Rafael nods at the waiter. “Yes. I’ll have the hash boulevardier and my date will have the house-cured lox benedict.” I stiffen next to him, turning my eyes to glare at the side of his face. He’s
known me for a couple of days, yet he feels comfortable enough ordering for me without even asking? Arrogant prick. If Roman surfacing didn’t squash my attraction for him, Rafael’s pompous attitude would have taken care of it.
The waiter does a slight bow before hurrying away. Rafael turns back to me and smiles when he sees the indignation on my face, making my annoyance start boiling even more. “You didn’t even let me look at a menu. How do you know I like fish? Don’t you think that’s a bit presumptuous?”
His eyebrow arches as his smile turns into an arrogant smirk. “Would you like me to call him back here so you can change your order?”
I desperately want to push aside my need to please people and demand the waiter come back so I can order something else. Even if the meal does sound delicious, it’s the principle of the thing. Pushing away my good old southern manners doesn’t come easily, though. “No.” I don’t elaborate or give him any more than that.
“You will like the meal. This chef is quite good.”
That’s not the point. Dealing with two bossy men in one day is not my idea of fun. My nails are cutting into my palm, my fists are curled so tightly. Biting my tongue, literally and metaphorically, I release a long breath through my nose, determined to let it go, at least for now. I want answers from Rafael. He’s the son of a man I called uncle. He may not have been blood, but blood doesn’t always make family. Hiding a son and not being an active part of his life does not equate with the man I knew.
“I want to know why Uncle Santiago never spoke of you. You said you had a complicated relationship, but that doesn’t make sense to me. He never would have abandoned a child. He was at every game, recital, or/and graduation for me. Someone who isn’t his biological daughter. It was the same with my sister. You can’t expect me to believe he didn’t do those things for you.”
Rafael shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter. “I lived in Mexico for much of my childhood, and he was here.”
My eyes sweep over his face, looking for a chink in his armor. Why even tell me about his connection with Santiago if he doesn’t seem to care at all?
I release a frustrated breath, running a shaking hand through my hair. “When my dad considered moving across town, Santiago put up a fight, saying he couldn’t be that far from his favorite girls. My sister and me. Yet he was okay with his only son living in Mexico? And on top of that, never spoke of you?”
The grinding noise Rafael’s teeth make as he clenches his jaw is audible in our quiet corner. “I am not sure what you want me to say. Our relationship was complicated.” His tone is as lethal as the glare he is shooting in my direction. The leather of the booth squeaks as I push myself across it, gaining even more space between us. His hot and cold attitude sends up glaring red flags as my stomach tangles in a nervous knot.
I stare back at him, surprised by the venom in his voice. He squares his shoulders and releases his clenched fist as a gorgeous smile takes over his face. When he starts speaking again, his voice is sugary sweet and apologetic. “I am sorry for my outburst. Please forgive me. My father is not the easiest topic for me. Let’s discuss your father. You loved him.”
I speak without thinking, reluctant to look away from him for even a second, worried what he will do if I’m not watching his every move. His sweet and apologetic face slid into place so easily. “You didn’t love your father?” Fury flashes in his eyes before the mask snaps into place, making me slide another inch toward the open exit of the booth.
“Chiquita. Please.” His head cocks and his eyes get even larger as he silently pleads for me to drop it. My racing heart forces me to leave this alone for now. I can’t see the front door from where I’m sitting, but I know without a doubt he would be up and out of the booth, blocking my exit before I even made my way around the other side of the seat. My thoughts from the other night echo in my head. I’m a chess piece to him. I just don’t know what he wants.
8
Roman
The smell of stale cigarettes is almost unbearable in this tiny motel room. I’ve stayed in a lot of shithole dumps with disgusting odors, but this one takes the fucking cake.
Harper. She’s the reason this is unbearable. Her sweet, sugary scent is still on my skin from holding her through the night. I can usually handle places like this, it comes with the territory of my job. But after smelling my favorite scent in the world for the first time in almost a decade, I’m about to lose my lunch. She hasn’t even been back in my life for a day, and already she’s turned me into a fuckin’ junkie jonesing for his next fix.
I would stay in a nicer place, but this is the closest motel to Harper. I’m not willing to be farther from her than I have to be. I don’t trust this situation or this bastard claiming he’s Santiago’s son. My instincts tell me he wants something from Harper, but he’ll get closer to her over my dead body. I’ll tear apart his life before that happens. If he is Santiago’s kid and he kept him away, it’s for a reason. I have no doubts about that. Santiago provided me with food when my mom was too blitzed out of her mind to even remember she had a son. Without him taking me under his wing, I wouldn’t be where I am today. A high school dropout, in the grave, or in a gang, that’s where I would be without Santiago. He was the most cunning and resourceful man I’ve ever known, didn’t utter a word without a reason. And there’s a reason Harper and I didn’t know this bastard existed.
I boot up my laptop, thank fuck I had it in my truck. It’s rare that I leave home unprepared, and this situation would have been a lot harder without it. Nothing else was in my truck, so I’ll have to stop at a store to pick up some shit.
As I’m setting up my WiFi through a VPN and getting ready to dig in, Kiernan’s name flashes across my phone screen. “Marx,” I answer.
“Got some intel for you, bossman.”
“Give it to me,” I demand, leaning forward, anticipating any information he can give me.
“Santiago is on the birth certificate. Kid was born in Mexico. Mexican government is just too damn easy to hack into. It wasn’t even a challenge. I actually got bored.”
“Get to the fuckin’ point, Brooks,” I growl through the phone.
“Touchy, touchy,” he chuckles. “What’s so important about this, anyway?”
“I’ll tell you when I know more. Now give me the info.”
Kiernan’s voice changes from joking to serious as he switches to his information officer. “Rafael Bazán Cortez, son of Santiago Cortez and Adriana Bazán. Santiago and Adriana married shortly before the kid was born, only have the one child together. He was born in Mexico where he was raised. He does have dual citizenship. He dropped the last name Cortez at some point, only going by Rafael Bazán. Working on finding his current location.”
“He’s in Austin.”
Kiernan sighs. “Do I want to know how you know this? Are you in his house right now with him tied to a chair while you’re holding a gun to his head demanding answers from him?”
“No, dumbass.”
He chuckles, changing back to his joking manner. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
I glare, even though he can’t see me. He knows me well enough to know that I’m picturing burning him alive. If he wasn’t so useful, I’d have tossed him under a tank during our first week of boot camp.
“I’ll give you more information when I know more. He’s in Austin. See if you can find out where he lives and a recent photo.”
“You don’t know what he looks like? Who brought you to Texas? You left that place a long time ago.” His voice is incredulous.
“Just get me what I need,” I grunt into the phone.
“It’d be easier to get you everything if you gave me any information. My search could be narrowed.”
Fuck. He’s right. I know he’s right. My molars are about to crack from how hard I’m clenching my teeth. I prepare to hear his laughter and fess up.
“I got a call from Harper yesterday saying she needed help. This Rafael guy bought her building and told her h
e was the son of Santiago. Santiago was a second father to Harper and the only father figure in my life, and she wanted to know if I knew about this kid he never spoke about. Not talking about his kid is not like the man we knew.”
There it is. His booming laugh comes through the phone, making me vibrate with barely controlled anger. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve been getting shit from Kiernan about Harper for almost as long as I’ve been separated from her.
“I should’ve left your ass in Afghanistan when I had the chance,” I mutter.
“You can’t live without me, brother. It’s okay to admit it.” His howling laughter echoes through the phone again before he composes himself enough to continue speaking. “Harper, the elusive Harper. You just up and left at the first phone call, huh?”
I don’t answer him.
“Did she ask you to come?”
“Yes,” I respond quickly.
He laughs again. “That means no.”
“Fuck you.”
“For real, though, brother, is she in danger?” The amusement has completely left his voice.
I groan, completely frustrated with my lack of information. But my instinct is telling me there’s danger ahead. “Not positive. My gut says yes. I don’t know what it is, but I sense it, man. There’s something brewing.”
“And, that’s what took you to Texas?”
“Yes. You know I haven’t thought about her in a long time. I couldn’t ignore it, though.” The lie is like sandpaper in my mouth. I haven’t stopped thinking about her. Ever.
