Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(22)

He, in turn, walks to the door, unzips his hoodie and settles his hand on the gun that’s returned as part of his gym wear. “Who is it?” he calls out.

“Ricardo Martinez,” comes a familiar deep voice, one that conjures an image of a heavyset, broody Mexican with lots of muscles and a huge scar down his cheek. “Juan sent me.”

“Who’s with you?” Kyle asks, the question making it clear that he’s one step ahead of Ricardo by knowing, or assuming, he’s not alone.

“Marcus Chavez,” Ricardo replies, while Kyle immediately shoots me a questioning look.

“Mid-forties, tall, lean but athletic with a mix of perpetual ice and hate in his eyes.” I shiver just thinking about it. “He’s right up there with Juan in my book.”

He narrows his eyes on the “scary” description. “Then he won’t be back,” he assures me, adding an order of, “Stay inside,” before he opens the door, and disappears outside, quickly shutting it behind him.

I’m there in a flash, my hands pressing to the door, my ear as well, but all I can make out are muffled voices that lift here and there, before there are footsteps. Then silence. Then some sort of beeping noise. Then the door opens and I have to double-step backwards not to get hit. “Well?” I ask as he appears.

“They left,” he says. “And he won’t be back without calling first next time. Will that help you relax a little?”

“Some. Thank you.”

“The only thanks I need is for you to stop feeling like you have to hug yourself and hide.”

“I…” I release my arms and then press them to my hips, before awkwardly folding them in front of me again, and just as awkwardly owning the action I knowingly keep repeating. “It is what it is.”

His eyes soften with his voice. “We’ll get there,” he says, issuing another promise instead of the commands I’ve become accustomed to with Michael, and it does this funny thing to my chest and belly that I can’t quite name. “I’m here to protect you, sweetheart,” he adds. “Really protect you. Deep under all that fear you own, you already know that.”

“I don’t know what I know right now,” I confess, but the truth is that there’s an energy and confidence about him that, despite just meeting him, makes me, as I suspect it does many around him, feel safe. “I still can’t be sure-”

“That I’m not setting you up?”

“I can’t ignore the possibility,” I amend. “You have to see that.”

“I do see that,” he says, “and while I don’t like it, caution is smart, and something I’m going to encourage you to have every chance I get. Case in point.” He holds up another small chip between his fingers. “This was at the front door. Had I not been cautious, I would have missed it. Let me get rid of it and we can go.” He disappears into the bedroom, and I follow him, appearing in the doorway at the same moment he enters the bathroom.

“What did Ricardo want?” I call out.

“To intimidate me,” he says, re-appearing and moving in my direction, his strides long, confident, his body lean, hard, and powerful.

“And what happened?” I ask, as he stops directly in front of me. Close. So very close and yet for reasons I can’t explain, I don’t step away. In fact, I inhale the masculine, autumn and spice scent of him, almost forgetting what I’ve just asked him, until he replies.

“Ricardo and his puffed-up chest amused me,” he says, his lips quirking in a sexy smirk.

Amused is not a word I expect in relation to Ricardo. “Does he know he amused you?”

“Since I told him he did, he should, but that one isn’t going to start glowing from his IQ anytime soon. Whatever the case, he’s getting rid of Marcus. How do you feel about some * named Alfredo?”

I’m stunned and pleased with this new development. “Better,” I say, but alarm bells replace my relief. “Why would they agree to that? Marcus is a long-term employee. Why are they doing anything you want?” I try to take a step backwards, and he catches my arm, our gazes colliding, and I feel that connection in every part of me.

“Don’t run,” he orders softly.

“I’m not running.”

“We both know you are,” he says, and there is this charge in the air that steals my breath, and seems to radiate heat between us.

“You can’t keep touching me,” I say, but my voice lacks the certainty it should possess, almost as if I want him to tell me he can, when I can’t let that happen.

“They’re doing what I want,” he says, as if I haven’t issued the warning at all, “because I’m the best bodyguard money can buy, and I’ve convinced them that I’m the one who can protect you and them.”

“By keeping me away from my sister,” I say, forced to dare down this taboo path in a hunt for his agenda.

“Yes,” he says, his eyes, those too green, too observant eyes, narrowing before he releases me, folding his arms in front of that broad, perfect chest of his. “What do you want to ask me?”

A hundred questions, all of which could hint at things I don’t want him to know. “I asked my question already.”

“No, you didn’t.”