Heat: An Alpha Male Criminal Romance (A Hotter Than Hell Novel Book 1) (18 page)

Since the day I met Moon, I’ve been creating sexual fantasies about him. I hate to admit that I’m no different than a lot of women and find bad boys attractive. Hell, Moon blows the other bad boys out of the water. I’ve been trying to give him the benefit of the doubt and convince myself that he may not be as bad as he’s portrayed. I knew he wasn’t exactly crime free, but when it came to murder, drugs, and guns I thought maybe he’s misunderstood. If that isn’t stupid, I don’t know what is.

No matter how hard I want to, I can’t just turn off the switch and not desire Moon. I’m an alpha female. I’ve been searching for that special man who can handle my kick-ass persona. Moon’s that man, but I can’t have him. Our worlds are too far apart.

The bedroom door opens and Moon stands in the dimmed light. He hesitates before walking into the closet. I hear him change clothes. Well, not exactly. He’s minus his clothes and wearing boxer briefs when he comes out. He turns off the lights and pushes back the thin coverlet and sheet on his side of the bed. I don’t know what to do.

“You should be sleeping,” he says into the quiet room after he’s made himself comfortable.

I should be angry and give him the silent treatment, but that’s as stupid as everything else flashing through my head. I owe him for rescuing me the other night. No, not with my body. I can at least be civil. “I tried. The pills don’t seem to be working. I’m wide awake.”

He rolls over so he’s facing me. “Come here,” he says and pulls me closer.

“Moon.” It’s not quite an objection. I don’t understand all these feelings that are jumbling my brain. I try not to think about my earlier orgasm. That road leads to heartache and endless frustration.

“You need a massage. Your body’s been through hell. It’ll make you sleepy.” He begins running his hands over my skin before finishing his statement. I turn fully to my belly and he moves his hands beneath another of his dress shirts that I’m wearing. I moan when he lightly massages my injured shoulder. The shirt is pulled tight over my breasts, so I lift a little and let it slide up more so he can work. I shouldn’t allow this, but I can’t fucking stop it. I crave his touch. It’s all I’ve thought about since waking up in his home a few days ago.

His hands feel so damn good. I lie still and let him work his magic. I don’t actually know when I started crying. Once the tears start, they won’t stop. I let them fall against the pillow and try to muffle the sound of my sobs.

I fought against Moon’s world for three years. No, actually longer than that. Practically my entire life has been about living on the right side of the law. I know there are dirty cops, and now it’s been thrown in my face. Don’t even get me started on Mexico and buying your way out of traffic tickets or any of the other ways their legal system is corrupt. Just look at the notorious drug kingpin El Chapo. He escaped prison through an elaborate tunnel just days ago and they still haven’t found him. He had help on the inside as well as on the outside.

This is the United States. Moon can’t have too many cops on his payroll; it’s impossible and I refuse to believe it. These thoughts pound through my head and more tears fall as Moon’s hands and fingers work my sore muscles. They leave a path of heat that makes it impossible for me to distinguish lust from pain. I cry harder.

Suddenly I’m on my back with Moon looming over me.

“Don’t cry, baby.” He wipes my tears, and I turn my face away and cry harder. He slides down so his body is alongside mine. Words are all I have and I strike out at him. “Why the fuck did you tell me about your war? You know who I am. Did you plan to kill me all along?”

He pulls me in tighter. “No, baby. You needed to know who I am. You’re naïve.” My body stiffens, but he keeps talking. “I’m not saying you haven’t dealt with the bad in this world. But my life… it’s an entirely different level of bad. It’s evil. In my world, the good guys don’t win.”

He rolls so I’m splayed over him and his chest is now my pillow. His fingers thread through my hair. My dirty hair. I almost laugh. I can’t though. This man has kissed me and loved me with my bruised and damaged face. How many men would do that? Even my parents would look at me in horror. Not Moon. He has a way of making me feel special like no other man has managed.

This is why people love him and keep his secrets. I knew from my class that no one has been able to breach the walls of his organization. He helps the people who are loyal to him and they give him absolute respect.

I’m finally gaining control of my emotions and I’m able to ask about the more important part of what’s bothering me. “Why me? Why turn my life upside down and bring me here the first time? I don’t buy the fucking Alex Gomez story you fed me. There’s another reason.” I’ve turned my head and all of this is said without his muffled chest hiding my rising anger. Anger is good.

Moon rolls us until I’m back on my side. He stands and crosses the room until he disappears into the closet. He comes out a minute later and turns on the bedside reading light. He places a large album on the bed. “Pick it up,” he says softly. I’m in no mood to do anything he asks, but the look in his eyes lets me know I should pick up the album. Moon’s knee hits the bed and he situates the pillows before joining me and sitting back against them. He reaches over and literally pulls me up so my back is against him and I’m wrapped in his arms.

He takes the album from me and flips through several pages until he comes to a full-page picture of three teenagers. One is Moon, another is Gomez, and the third a young woman. Her skin is lighter than Moon’s, but her Mexican heritage is evident. What astounds me is that if my skin were darker, we could be sisters.

I don’t understand. “Who is she?”

Moon’s finger slides over the image. “Alex’s sister.”

“What happened to her?” I’m so afraid to hear his answer.

“She lives far away from our ugliness. It’s the only way we can keep her and her family safe.”

I still don’t understand. “So I look like Gomez’s sister?” I refuse to call him Alex. It makes him more human to me and I don’t want that.

Moon gives a faint laugh and gently squeezes my arm. “I was in love with her. Alex told me he would kick my ass if I ever touched her. I took him at his word. Family is everything to us. I wasn’t good enough for her. She married a man who takes good care of her and keeps her away from our world.” He stops talking and kisses the top of my head. “Alex saw you and decided to play matchmaker because I did as he asked and stayed away from Theresa.”

“That’s fucked up,” I whisper. Now I know why Moon laughed so hard when I told him I might want to date Alex.

“It is. And he was so incredibly wrong. I’m not good enough for you either. You deserve so much more than I could ever give you.”

Four days. What if we’d met back when we were teenagers? Would that have made a difference in Moon’s life? Alex’s sister is not a criminal and Moon didn’t change for her, so I guess that’s my answer.

I haven’t said anything, so Moon continues. “Theresa is actually nothing like you. She’s traditionally Mexican. It’s not that Mexican women aren’t strong. It’s a different type of strength, though. You’re her opposite. You have fire; whereas, she wants to cook and clean and take care of her husband and children. Her ambition is to raise daughters just like her and a son to be just like his father. Those aren’t bad qualities; they’re just not what I look for in women. When I was young and in love, I felt differently.”

“Did you love her very much?”

His chuckle is low and sexy. “My wet dreams were made up of all things Theresa.” Moon’s head tips down and the side of his face rests against my hair. “Don’t ever tell Alex I told you that. He’s still entirely too protective of her.” His breath ruffles my hair and I’m aware all over again that it needs to be washed.

My mind is wandering, and the pain meds are finally beginning to work. I’m safe and warm and exactly where I want to be.

“Is she the reason you haven’t had sex with me? My orgasm doesn’t count,” I mumble sleepily. He’s holding the album, and I’d love to look at more pictures, but my eyes won’t stay open.

He sweeps my hair back and kisses the side of my cheek. “A severe car accident, an aching shoulder, and your second concussion in a week aren’t enough for you?”

“Add a black and blue face and I see your point.”

“No,” he whispers in my ear. “I don’t think you do. I’m so bad for you, baby.”

“That’s why I need to leave here. You’re wrapping me inside your cocoon where I’m safe and cared for. This isn’t me.”

“Two more days. Carlo is coming in the morning. He’ll throw a fit if you aren’t here. My conference call generated some business and I won’t be around tomorrow. The day after that, you are all mine. You need this time to fully recover too. I know you can take care of yourself, but those are my terms.”

There wasn’t even a small part of me that wanted to argue. The damn drugs take away my free will. I won’t be taking them tomorrow. “I’ll go stir-crazy,” I whisper.

“You’ll have a visitor, so don’t worry about that.”

I yawn. I’m incapable of thinking about a visitor. Moon places the album on the nightstand and turns off the light. After he readjusts the pillows, he spoons me. I’m too tired to do anything about his erection. The breeze from the ceiling fan keeps us cool even while we lay mostly skin to skin.

I fall asleep in Moon’s arms.

Chapter Nineteen

I’M ALONE IN BED
when I wake up. The album is gone and there’s a note on the pillow that is short and to the point.

Carlo will be here at 9 and your entertainment at 10.

A cell phone rests beside the note, and I’m able to check the time by pressing the Home button. It’s a new phone so I check the contacts. Only one number is there and I know it’s the phone Moon gave me. It’s a little after eight in the morning. I have no idea what to wear, so I choose beige shorts and a white tank top. After Dr. Santos leaves, I’ll wash my hair in a full shower. To hell with the sink. My headache is gone. I have body aches, but I won’t need pain meds.

I wash my face and do my best not to cringe at what I see staring back at me in the mirror. My bruises are multicolored and I look worse than I did yesterday, if that’s possible. The only consolation is that the swelling is down around the bandage that covers the stitches. There’s a knock on the bedroom door, and I exit the bathroom as Gabriella carries in a tray.

“You eat before El Doctor arrives,” she tells me in stilted English. She doesn’t appear impressed with my miraculous recovery and by that I mean being up and walking around.

“I’d be happy to go downstairs and eat.”

“You stay,” she commands and rests the tray on the nightstand. She leaves the room without looking back.

There’s a glass of water and one of orange juice. A metal room service-type cover is over a large plate. I lift it and breathe in huevos rancheros. It looks delicious. I pull the thin cotton bedspread over the sheet, adjust the pillows, situate myself, and dig into the eggs, corn tortillas, rice, and beans. It’s to die for and I gobble almost half before I’m able to slow down. I’m trying my best to figure out a way to save the uneaten food for later, when Gabriella knocks on the door and enters.

She shakes her head and reaches for the plate. “El Doctor is downstairs. He will come up.” The rest of her words are in Spanish, and I think she’s unhappy that I didn’t finish a meal made for two or three grown men.

“Gracias. The huevos rancheros were wonderful.” By the tightening of her lips it’s obvious she’s not the least bit impressed with my three words of Spanish.

I receive another spiel in Spanish and pick “stupid white girl” out of the mix. Gabriella is not my biggest fan, and I bite my lip so I don’t laugh. As a cop, you learn very quickly that some people just don’t like you. I got over that while working the streets and I can get over Gabriella’s dislike too. She’s the least of my current problems.

She carries the tray away and I jump up so I can brush my teeth. Dr. Santos knocks and waits for me to open the door before he enters.

“The improvement appears to be everywhere but your face, Miss Kinlock.”

I smile. “I’ve had enough honesty in the last twenty-four hours to last a lifetime. I need you to lie to me from here on out.”

He laughs. It’s nothing like Moon’s. This is a man who laughs often. “I shall do my best to mix truth with lies and keep that smile on your face. Now, please lie down so I may examine you.”