by Reina Torres
He’d never created something as big or important as the storefront that had burned down, but he’d seen things he created, destroyed.
It was bad enough when you knew it was coming. Blindsided would leave the strongest person shaken, and he might not know exactly how Sloane was feeling, but he knew shock when he saw it.
And knowing that Sloane was suffering, hurt him more than he was willing to admit out-loud.
As soon as she was in her bedroom she headed straight for the bed and started to climb up onto it.
“Sloane?”
She paused, one knee on the mattress, the other leg still on the floor. “Yeah?”
“You want me to find something for you to change into? You’re still wearing the dress from the party.”
Her head dipped, and a laugh fell from her lips.
“That seemed like a lifetime ago… at least for me.”
He wanted to hold her. Press her tightly to his body and let her know that he was there.
It was insanity, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“Sloane, please,” when he swallowed, all he felt was a raw pain in his throat. “What can I do to help you?”
She set both feet back down on the floor and turned to look at him. Her makeup was smudged around her eyes, her hair lopsided and ready to fall around her shoulders. Her dress was twisted and wrinkled around her body, but she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, because even with her life in turmoil, there was still a determined spark in her eyes.
She held out her hand to him and drew in a steadying breath. “Stay with me, Vicente.”
He heard the words and prayed she didn’t take them back. Not now.
“Sleep beside me. I don’t think I can let you walk out the door.” She gasped in a breath. “I wasn’t going to ask,” she told him, “but I’m afraid that if I go to sleep by myself, with nothing to hold on to, that I’m going to disappear into the dark.” The look in her eyes nearly slayed him. She looked so earnest he knew what he had to do.
The only thing his heart would allow him to do.
He managed to toe-off his shoes before he got to her side, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t care. At least not this once.
Climbing up onto the bed, following in her wake, Vicente found what was likely the middle of the bed and laid down, opening his arms to her before he was settled.
And Sloane didn’t argue or deny him.
She fit herself against the side of his body and laid her cheek on his shoulder, falling asleep as Vicente traced his fingers from her shoulder to the base of her neck and back again and again.
“Vicente?”
He heard her mumble, nearly sleep, most likely worrying again about something she could fix, at least not at that moment.
“Sleep, Sloane. Everything will be there tomorrow.”
And he was right.
When she awoke in the morning, a gasp on her lips and a missing beat in the rhythm of her heart, she felt his arms around her and settled back against his side.
A quick look told her that they probably hadn’t moved an inch during the night. They were both still wearing the same clothes they had at the party and with the slightest movement of her hand, she felt the reassuring pulse of his heartbeat a few inches below.
Sighing softly, she melted back against the bed.
“You okay?”
Sloane turned her head and managed to tilt it up enough to see his face.
Vicente was wide awake beside her, his eyes searching hers.
“I want to say I am,” she licked at her lips to ease the dry pull of her skin, “but I really don’t know.”
His smile was a slow curve of his lips and she felt parts of her body begin to wake up. Long forgotten sensations that she had been sure she’d never feel before she met this man, were now just within reach.
“What can I do?”
She felt him move his hand on her shoulder in a gentle comforting sweep over her bare skin.
So many words formed in her head. So many seemingly ridiculous things that she’d hate herself for saying.
But they all revolved around one thing. Touch.
There were very few people that Sloane touched by choice. That didn’t apply to her work with the foundation. There she was used to holding hands or giving someone a comforting hug.
But allowing someone inside her heart where a touch could mean… and should mean so much more was something she didn’t do often. Or hardly.
Hildie was the only one she cared deeply enough for as a friend to allow her close enough, but a man? She’d tried before. Almost engaged herself to someone before she realized that she’d never allow him in to see her shattered heart.
But Vicente…
Heaven help her, she wanted his touch. She wanted his arms around her. Wanted his hands on her skin.
Wanted him so far inside her that she’d always feel him there.
So she wouldn’t ever be so alone again.
“Sloane?”
She felt him shift on the bed and looked to see that he was on his side, searching her face with his curious gaze.
“I’m sorry,” the apology was as nature as breathing, “I was thinking.”
“You were agonizing over something, baby. Do you ever give yourself a break?”
She shook her head. “It’s hard to do that when I’m constantly worried about how I’m going to mess everything up. When I’m going to do something even more stupid than the last time. When I’m going to-”
“Don’t do that to yourself. I’m supposed to keep you from being hurt. I’m not going to let you hurt yourself like this.”
She felt his warm fingers on her jaw, holding her still under his gaze, but it didn’t hurt. She felt comforted. She felt cherished.
And all of that, made her ache.
In so many delicious places.
“I think like this all the time,” she shrugged a little, “when it’s true, it’s true. Everything I care about, everyone I love, gets messed up because of me at some point. It’s better just to admit to it. Say it out loud. Remind myself so I don’t make a mistake and let someone in just to ruin-”
He moved so fast that she didn’t have time to realize what he’d done until it was over.
She was under him, pressed deep into her bed by his weight, her thighs cradling one of his legs between them, his fingers drawing her chin down as he swallowed her words and filled her mouth with his tongue.
The aches she’d felt had become fire. Flames licking at her skin with the same intensity that Vicente Bravo was sliding his tongue over hers.
She should tell him to stop.
Tell him that she’d just pull him down with her, no matter how strong he was, but the things he was doing to her with just his mouth on hers made her shudder underneath him and her hands… they reached for him, needing him closer.
When her hands clutched at his shoulders, he moved his mouth from hers and she pulled him closer. “Don’t,” she begged, “don’t stop.”
The cheek he brushed against hers was slightly rough, but it only made the flames she felt lick at her skin, sending her a little closer to the edge.
She felt his fingers dig into her hip and she pressed closer, her leg hooking over the back of his.
His lips found her neck, placing a line of kisses along the side, making his way to her shoulder.
Her nipples tightened, and she arched her back searching for the hard wall of his chest. And when she found it, she felt his teeth on her skin. He mumbled something against her skin and it didn’t matter that she couldn’t hear the words, she felt them and the strong stroke of his fingers as they sought her thigh and pulled it tight against his hip.
All she wanted to do was hold him tight and not let go. Special Agent Vicente Bravo had managed to sneak past all of her walls and defenses and-
Someone was pounding on the door.
And there was shouting.
Sloane sat up as Vicente slid from the bed, clutching at he
r dress which was hanging onto her breast by a prayer. “What’s going on?”
“That,” he growled, with his head turned toward the open bedroom doorway, “is what I’m going to find out.”
As she scooted to the edge of her bed she saw him reach for the nightstand and pick up his gun. It was a momentary shock, but she realized that the night before… or rather just a few hours before when they’d fallen into bed, she hadn’t spared a moment to wonder where he’d put his gun.
She got to her feet and tried to set her dress back into place, but something was twisted and made it difficult to fix it. Sloane followed Vicente into the main room of her apartment and then backed up a few steps when he waved her behind the corner.
Chapter 9
Vicente could hear three voices outside. Point of fact, he was sure the entire building could hear the three voices outside. He was sure they’d have a noise complaint on their hands.
“Sir, please sir, you have to step back!”
Agent Hamada was trying to diffuse the situation, but-
“You don’t tell me what to do, young lady!”
A gasp from the hall turned his head.
“That’s my uncle.”
Vicente swore under his breath. Glen McKinnon wasn’t someone you wanted to tangle with about anything. The man had demolished businesses that were bigger than small countries and then had a relaxing cigar and snifter as things burned to the ground.
A quick peek out of the corner of the shade told him there wasn’t anyone else lurking outside and he disarmed the security and opened the door.
McKinnon’s eyes locked on him the moment he did.
“You!”
Vicente stepped into the open doorway. “Agent Bravo. Is there something you need?”
“I need you to get out of my way or produce my niece, then feel free to make yourself scarce. I’ll take care of everything from here.”
“Sir,” Vicente hated when people told him what to do, but when they were dismissive, it really twisted him up inside, “I’ll have Sloane call you-”
“Sloane is it?” The man was tall, having a few inches on Vicente which wasn’t easy, but he had worked hard on perfecting the kind of glare that made most people cower. On that, he had nothing on Vicente.
“Yes, Sloane. If you need to see her-”
Glen McKinnon moved through the FBI agents like a battleship in the ocean, nearly bowling them over.
Vicente didn’t fault the agents, they couldn’t justify knocking one of the most influential men in San Antonio on his ass. Add to that his relationship with Sloane and it made no sense to take him down himself.
Yet.
“Vicente?”
He heard Sloane’s voice, but he also saw the narrowed eyes of her Uncle and the sardonic twist to his lips. The man probably didn’t miss much.
“Go ahead and let him in. I was supposed to go to his office to see him this morning.”
Now assured of his acceptance into the apartment, Glen stood up straight and turned to give the agents behind him a grin that would likely still be stuck in their craws for months to come as he stepped through the doorway and into Sloane’s apartment.
“It’s not like to you be late, Sloane.”
Vicente had to give her credit. She didn’t physically shrink from the older man’s glare, but he could have sworn he saw a shadow of something in her eyes.
“I am sorry, Uncle Glen. There were some additional trials last night.”
“The near miss this morning, perhaps?”
Vicente focused more attention onto the older man.
Turning to look at Vicente, he nodded. “I have eyes and ears everywhere in San Antonio, Agent Bravo. Nothing happens in my town that I don’t know about. Still, I’m unimpressed by the lack of respect your FBI office has shown me during this trying time. It’s part of the reason I wanted Sloane to have protection from the local police. They understand who they’re dealing with.”
Sloane wrapped her robe around her body tighter. “I’m sorry I don’t have coffee for you-”
“No sense in wasting time, my dear.” Reaching into the sleek leather portfolio he’d brought with him, McKinnon withdrew a sheaf of papers that looked thick enough to be a textbook if it had been bound. “After our conversation, I took the liberty of drafting up some papers to transition your foundation into the McKinnon holdings. I can assure you I will have the best people assigned to your charity, and you’ll have the peace of mind to sit back and relax. All this tension and your brushes with danger can’t be good for your health. All you have to do is sign.”
And damn if the man didn’t set down a pearl inlaid Montblanc pen on top of the papers.
With that done he sat down on the couch and gestured for her to sit in the armchair beside him.
Sloane folded herself into the chair and reached for the papers.
As she leaned over. Vicente caught McKinnon glaring at her robe.
From where he was sitting, Vicente couldn’t see much, but whatever the older man saw, he certainly didn’t like. The garment covered her from her shoulders to her knees, held securely by a belt, it wasn’t revealing anything in the slightest, but it seemed to aggravate McKinnon just the same.
Settling the papers in her lap, she poured over the first page, stopping a few times with a narrowed or questioning look. “I’m not sure we’re on the same page about this.” Lifting her head, her hair fell back from her face and Vicente could easily see the troubled look in her eyes. “I’m not interested in giving up the foundation to have it become a forgotten doll in the attic of your holdings. I have poured my heart and soul into this for years.”
“And nearly beggared your family’s holdings to do it.”
Vicente didn’t like the way he spoke to Sloane, but this wasn’t his call as much as he wanted to interrupt.
“It’s my inheritance. You told me it was mine to do with as I chose.”
“Within reason,” McKinnon clarified, “and with proper consideration given to my advice.”
He saw the tick in the other man’s jaw, saw the beads of sweat on the other man’s forehead and the red flush on the back of his neck.
“I thought you’d put it into investments, drop a few thousand here or there on charities and live happily the rest of your life.” Standing, McKinnon reached out and snatched the pen from Sloane’s hand. “You’re not the intelligent young woman your parents thought you were. I was still willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Your father and I were as close as brothers, and I hate that he’s gone, but if he knew what you were going to waste everything he worked so hard to give you...” McKinnon shoved his pen into his coat pocket and Vicente was worried that he would rip the pen straight through to the lining, but he figured the businessman could afford it. “He’d turn over in his grave.”
With a glaring shake of his head, Glen McKinnon sent one last parting shot at his niece. “When you’ve come to your senses, call me. Until then, I have business to do.”
When the door swung shut on his exit, Vicente didn’t follow him and set the alarm immediately. He took the other man’s seat on the couch and leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs.
Sloane was staring at the first page of the papers that her uncle brought her. He watched her eyes moving over and over from one side of the page to the other, and the more she did it, the more agitated she became.
“Sloane?”
She didn’t react to his voice. She didn’t seem to notice him sitting there.
“This isn’t what I meant.” She shook her head and her honeyed blonde hair shook and caught on her shoulders. “This isn’t what I want.”
He saw the dawning horror in her eyes as she read over the first page of the document again.
“He’s going to destroy everything I’ve built. It’ll be gone. Dismantled. He just doesn’t understand.”
She lowered her head and her hair covered her face like a curtain. He would have left her alone to think if it hadn’t be
en for her leg. It was her knee he noticed first, bared from the hem of her robe it shook and the quiver continued down her calf.
“Sloane?”
He watched as she slowly curled in on herself, the papers falling from her hands onto the carpet around their feet.
“If I give up,” he could barely hear her words, “then what am I going to do?”
Vicente moved to the edge of the couch until his knee was almost touching hers. “No one says you have to give up.”
“He always said I was cursed.”
A tear fell from behind her hair and fell onto the silk of her robe.
“That I’m the reason they all died.”
“Hey,” he leaned forward and took her hand in his, “don’t do this to yourself.”
“Why not?” She turned toward him and her hair fell back to reveal her red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. “It’s true. My parents are dead. My sister died. And here I am.”
He looked down for a moment when he felt several points of pain on the back of his hand. Sloane had covered their joined hands and her fingers were digging into his skin, making pale halos against his darker complexion.
Vicente met her eyes again and this time he wasn’t going to let go, not when he saw the wild grief looking back at him.
“Here you are, Sloane. With me.”
Her eyes widened and when they slowly narrowed to their normal size he saw the change in her.
Saw how her breathing changed ever so slightly, slowing, easing the jagged rise and fall of her shoulders from a few moments before. Her green eyes darkened as she looked at him, her gaze moving over his face, searching for something.
“With you?” The words had a wistful tone to them, a soft breathy whisper in her own ears. “You mean you’re here until they find out who is trying to destroy me… or I die. Then no one will be with me, Vicente. We all die alone.” She swallowed at the knot in her throat, but it wouldn’t go down. “And some of us die more alone than others.”
“Sloane, stop.”
She shut her eyes and opened them again. “You know, my uncle thinks he knows me. He thinks if he just waits long enough, pushes hard enough, I’ll give up and sign those damn papers.”
