The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)

The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)

Linda Kage




Dedication

For Eli Castro

(Yes, The Original Elisa)



I can’t thank you enough, chica, for all the time and effort you put into helping me with this story and with, well, everything you’ve done. You’re a one-of-a-kind amazing!





Author’s Note:

I decided not to italicize all the Spanish terms in this story because there were so many of them. And in some cases, my Spanish translator’s suggestions contradicted my English editor’s marks (like the capitalization of proper nouns!) so not everything uses perfect Spanish grammar in difference to this being an English-told story, sorry.

For anyone not familiar with a Spanish phrase you may encounter, I have an English translation chart at the end of the story if you’d like to know what each word/phrase means!





I opened my bleary eyes, half-awake from postcoital bliss as the naked woman on top of me shifted, the soft, smooth warmth of her flesh caressing my own. She slid off the bed and presented me with a spectacular view of the most perfect ass ever, and my smile grew eager...until she pulled on a pair of panties and then reached for her bra.

Wait, no, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Blinking myself back into better consciousness, I tried to sit up and found it damn near impossible. “What’re you doing? What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer, which wasn’t surprising. I hadn’t been able to pull more than a dozen words from her since we’d met, and nothing she’d said so far had been in English. But in the lyrics of Jason Derulo, her booty hadn’t needed explaining. Not then, anyway.

Apparently, it did now since she’d gone and hidden hers under a silky piece of black lace. And damn, she looked really good in those silky black panties, especially from the back, where I could see two tanned cheeks peeking out the bottom of all that swirling lace.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” I tried to sit up again. Still wasn’t happening. I frowned at the fur-covered handcuffs constraining me to my headboard and spent a few seconds muttering until I could twist into a somewhat upright position.

Across the room, she pulled on her stretchy black yoga pants I’d taken off last night with my teeth.

I guess it was time to pull out my high school Spanish. This was going to get ugly, but I didn’t care.

“Sentarse.” Shit, no. That was sit, not stay, wasn’t it?

“Quedarse,” I tried again, finally remembering the correct word for stay.

The waistband of her pants indignantly snapped into place on her hips as she spun around to send me a lethal glare; not that I blamed her. I had just given her dog commands.

I winced and repeated, “Quedarse,” then added a pathetic little, “por favor.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes before jerking on her top and reaching for her purse.

“No! Don’t go. Please, don’t go. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’m sorry. Shit, what’s sorry in Spanish?”

“Lo siento,” she said, her voice a quiet, sexy hum that was damn near a whisper.

No idea what lo siento meant, but it sounded stimulating as hell coming from her lips. My body responded, and I had to bend a leg to try to cover my exposed hard-on, so she wouldn’t see how aroused I was while she was trying to ditch out on me.

“Elisa!” I cried, my voice cracking with desperation. I even banged my cuffs against the metal rails of my bed’s headboard to get her attention.

When she paused at the doorway, her back to me, I held my breath. Such a crucial moment. Whatever I said now could be the deciding factor for her to stay or go. But all I could think to say was, “I’m sorry.” And I didn’t even know what the hell I was sorry for. I just knew I’d done something wrong, and it was making her leave.

It couldn’t have been the sex. Last night and this morning had totally rocked my casbah. It had hers too; the minx definitely wasn’t quiet when she came. So, what—

She turned back slowly. My heart stuttered in my chest when I saw the tears streaming down her face. “Elisa?” I whispered, worried as hell.

What in God’s name had I done wrong?

“En serio lo siento tanto,” she choked out, her face red as she began to sob into her hands. “Tengo que hacer esto.”

I shook my head. Derulo was freaking whack. This definitely needed explaining.

But as I opened my mouth to spit out more broken Spanish, begging her not to go, Elisa whirled back to the exit and raced up the stairs until I could hear the door at the top slam shut.

“Hey!” I yelled, my frustration morphing from the worried kind into the pissed kind. “What the hell? Elisa! You can’t just start crying and then run off like that. Get your ass back here and uncuff me from this f*cking bed! Tell me what I did wrong. Please! ELISA!”

She didn’t return. And I couldn’t chase after her.

I spent the first thirty seconds of my solitary confinement throwing a major tantrum, thrashing on the mattress and trying to dislocate my wrists by failing at pulling them free of the handcuffs. The damn things were no longer fun...or kinky.

The next thirty seconds, I filled the air with a profanity I’d never used before, blatant and blaring. But nothing I screamed freed me from this bed.