His lips curve, his eyes possessive as he brushes hair from my cheek, and chills of absolute terror slide down my spine.
I blink back to the present and Kyle is pulling the Mustang into the parking garage of the Ritz, but my mind drags me to one last horrible moment, forcing my lashes to lower. I am in his hotel room. The room is elegant, large, and thankfully the living area is separate from the bedroom that I don’t want to see, but fear I will. I take a step toward a chair to join him, but he holds up a hand. “I want to see all that ivory skin naked. Get naked for me, Myla.”
I blanch. “Now? Here?
His lips curve slightly, his eyes darkening. “Now. Here.”
I have a moment of pure panic, and I want to turn and run, but logic reminds me that he is a drug lord, a man who murders without question. I cannot decline. And there is a gut feeling inside me that says if I act as if I want to, he will kill me.
I play coy, like he’s the only person I would do this for. Another instinct, I just grab on to. “I don’t normally…I feel very nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous. I will be gentle.”
My gaze snaps open and Kyle has pulled us into a parking spot. And still, the image of me standing naked in front of Alvarez, my hands tied, just before he did things to me, a vision I wish I could forget slams into my mind. Then there is another, of Juan, in the back of a car, that should be worse, but it’s not. Michael Alvarez is always worse. Struggling to catch my breath, I reach for the door and open it, grabbing my purse and briefcase, and exiting the car, my heart racing. Still, I scan for watchful eyes I don’t find, and start walking, making a beeline for the elevator in sight.
Kyle catches me halfway there, his hand coming down on my arm, turning me to face him. “Easy, sweetheart. You’re telling the world you’re upset, when you need to just tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I just need to run. I need to get out of my own head. And I know that kind of sucks for you because you have to follow me around, but-”
“It doesn’t. We’ll run, but what just upset you?”
“Nothing running won’t solve. I promise. It always fixes things for me. It takes the edge off. It lets me think. It’s my drug.”
He gives me a steady look and then nods. “I get it. I understand what it’s like to be deep undercover and beat up by it. And we both know you’re being beat up.”
“I’m stressed. That is not undercover.”
“You might as well be, and we both know it.” But he doesn’t push for more, releasing me. “Let’s go run.”
Gladly accepting the reprieve, I start walking, impatiently punching the elevator button once at the doors, and relieved when they open instantly. He catches the door, allowing me to enter, and then he’s inside with me, smelling all spicy and manly, and consuming the space around me. Michael Alvarez does that too, but it’s different. It’s like an attack you can’t escape, while Kyle’s presence is a promise that being with him is too good to even want to try to escape. And his silence on the ride is a promise that he really does understand what I’m feeling and that now is not the time for questions and answers.
Once on our floor, more of the same silence from the elevator settles between us, and somehow our steps are in unison, like he’s somehow feeding off my emotions. Like he’s telling me I’m not alone, or maybe I just want that to be his message. But alone has served me well. Trusting no one has protected me and my sister. It’s kept me alive. I am at a crossroads though, and he is standing in the center and there is nothing about him right now that says he plans to do anything but stay there.
The moment we’re in the hotel room—no, my prison—I enter the hallway, and call over my shoulder, “I’m going to change,” without looking back. I need to deal with all the adrenaline and emotions colliding inside me. If I can just take the edge off, I’ll have real thoughts. Real solutions. A new plan.