Risky Play (Red Card #1)(5)

“You’re not one of those people that kidnap Americans and then get a ransom, are you?” I asked stupidly.

He bit down on his lip. “Do I look like a kidnapper?”

“Well . . .” I narrowed my eyes and studied him. “No. Yes. I’m not sure.”

He leaned in until we were chest to chest. “Trust me.”

I sucked in a breath, he was so close, and the gold flecks in his eyes were so hypnotic I didn’t even blink. “Can I?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? You’re being spontaneous, you’re the one with all the regrets.”

“Not true—” I started to argue.

He silenced me with a brief kiss that left me shocked, aroused, and my heart pounding. “Then why the question? The one thing you ask before you plummet to your death is what you would do different, which makes me assume you would do a lot of things different, and you don’t look like the type of girl who gets into cars with strange men.”

“That’s because I listened about stranger danger in school.” I smirked.

He barked out a laugh. “I must have missed that lesson.” One side of his mouth lifted in a cocky half smile. “I skipped a lot of school . . .”

“Shocking.” I crossed my arms.

“Get in.”

“But—”

“Send a text to your mom, dad, best friend.”

I tried not to cringe at the words best friend.

“Let them know where you are and where you’re going just in case you really don’t trust me, then get in the damn car.”

He was already taking my bags when I texted my mom my location and turned on my GPS.

And then I was suddenly sitting with a complete stranger in a sexy electric-blue Ferrari that roared to life so hard and fast I almost felt sorry that we couldn’t just take it out for a few hours. Then again, he was a stranger. Would it be weird to ask for a joyride? Something told me that’s how good girls get kidnapped or end up pregnant, sports cars and guys who look like that.

Hugo put on a pair of black Ray-Bans and grinned over at me. “You ready for vacation?”

“Ready.” I wasn’t ready. I so wasn’t ready. This wasn’t me. This behavior. But something was building in my chest, something exciting, something that felt both wrong and right at the same time.

He hit the accelerator.

I let out a scream as we flew out of the airport and down the streets of Puerto Vallarta. We passed malls, restaurants, car dealerships, and finally about ten minutes into our trip he turned right then left, and there we were.

Secrets.

The guard at the gate asked for our passports, then widened his eyes for a brief minute before Hugo slipped something into his hand and fired off something in Spanish.

The man grinned and held out his phone.

Hugo turned to me. “He wants to take a picture of us on our first day. I may have lied and said we were married . . .”

My face fell.

“It will be quick, promise. No worries.”

Before I knew what was happening, I was leaning in and taking a picture with Hugo, and then I was being helped out of the car and handed a glass of champagne.

The staff seemed a little eager to see us arrive.

Maybe it was the car?

Hugo seemed to calm everyone down with a few gorgeous words in Spanish. I even found myself nodding, though I couldn’t understand a word because he was talking so fast. I could only catch enough to know he was discussing his stay and something else about a newspaper.

I’d stupidly studied French all through college.

That, I was fluent in. But Spanish? Nada.

Okay, so I knew nothing.

Literally.

In seconds, I was swept away to registration. Across the room, Hugo was making sweeping motions with his hands while a little kid ran up and tossed him a soccer ball.

I frowned.

The ladies at registration kept pointing and covering their mouths with their hands while they giggled.

Yeah, I got it, I did.

The man was gorgeous.

Not merely “Oh look, he has nice eyes and a body that could run for days without breaking a sweat,” but really just . . . beautiful to look at.

All smooth skin, rippling forearm muscles, and bracelets—how did a guy get away with wearing so many different rope bracelets without looking stupid?

I blinked and looked closer. Did he have a braid in his hair too?

Huh.

The same silky hair I’d tugged on.

I shivered.

“Welcome home!” Marta said with a grin. “You’ve booked the penthouse suite for four days. Anything you need at all, and we’ll have a butler personally see to it, Miss—” I grabbed my key cards before she could say my name.

“Thank you!” I interrupted and stood. “I’m tired, I think I’ll just go—” I did a 360. “Where’s the elevator?”

“I’ll go with you.” Hugo flashed me his key card.

“Hmm, you following me now?” I teased.

“Apparently we both have good taste.” There were two penthouse suites per floor.

Side by freaking side.

I was P601.

And he was P602.

I shook my head; it was ridiculous, wasn’t it?

These things didn’t really happen, did they?