Authors: Donna Kauffman
Tags: #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Contemporary Romance, #Contemporary Women
He slipped across the hall and back into the
kitchen, taking his place at the griddle just as Blue came into the room.
“Fajitas almost ready?”
She’d just had her bar nearly trashed and faced down enough beer-fueled testosterone to put any man on edge, yet her voice flowed into his system as smooth and easy as the apricot brandy he knew Tejo kept stashed behind the flour canisters.
Diego shook his head. She was doing it again.
“Coming right up.” He felt her pause hang in the air behind him like a breath trapped in his lungs. He also felt her gaze roam his body. It was as distinct and visceral as if she’d used two hands instead of her black eyes.
“Good.”
One word shouldn’t cause that deep, undeniable twitch low inside him. If he could just find a way of completing this job without having to listen to her voice.
She stepped to his side, leaning in to see what he was cooking.
He managed not to tighten every muscle in his body.
“Smells great.” She put her hand on his biceps. It flexed hard, the instant reaction totally beyond his control.
She stepped away and he tried not to release an audible sigh.
“I’m taking this tray,” she added, obviously referring to the one loaded with bowls of chips and pots of salsa. “Bring more.”
So she thought she could command him as easily as a couple of drunks? “
Sí
, señorita. Pronto.”
“See that you do.”
There hadn’t been the least trace of sarcasm in his voice, yet he knew she’d heard it loud and clear anyway.
The lady was sharp.
The lady was also going to be the death of them both.
There was a pause, then she said, “I’ll have your paperwork ready to fill out just as soon as the after-work crowd settles down. I’ll give you your schedule before you leave tonight.”
The job. He had to get back in her office before she did. “Fine,” he answered, but a glance over his shoulder told him she’d already gone.
Diego arranged the bowls of fajita fixings on a large serving tray.
“Three more weeks, Santerra,” he muttered. Three more weeks and Del would testify against Hermes Jacounda. And then, for all intents and purposes, Seve “Del” Delgado would cease to exist.
Diego would never see his team leader again. Or Del’s daughter either.
No matter how badly he might want to.