Page 71 of No Sweeter Poison

She giggles. “Oh?”

“He hid them all over the house one time as a joke. I’ll tell you the rest later.”

“But why?”

I hook both arms under her thighs and she wraps her legs around my waist, aligning our hips before ramming into her. A scream gets caught in her throat and I kiss her, smothering the sound as I pound into her hard enough to hear the wet smack of flesh against the bathroom tiles.

I touch her everywhere. Her breasts, her waist, the curve of her hips, grip her ass with my open palms and squeeze. She tries to move her hips in tandem with mine but I keep her pinned in place, thrusting down to the hilt each time she tries fighting for control. A strangled sound leaves her when I pinch her clit and her nails pierce the soft flesh beneath my shoulder blades as she drags them down the length of my back. The water stings my skin as it washes over us and I’m so fucking close to coming I almost finish before she does.

Dahlia buries her face in my shoulder and whimpers each time I pull out to the tip and thrust down to the hilt. “Look at you…you’re such a good girl.” I grip her chin. “Look at the way you take every inch of me.”

Her hair is soaked, the heat making the soft hairs around her face curl against her temples. Tension builds at the base of my spine and heat rushes through my body. I can see how close she is but she’s holding on, wanting to savor every last second.

Her gaze drops and her breath catches. I feel her walls tighten around me and the last thrust inside her pushes her over the edge. She cries out and I watch with pleasure and fascination as her climax tears through her, transforming her sweet, wholesome face into the picture of ecstasy. I finish inside her and we both ride the high until the hot water burns our skin and we’re ready to collapse.

Carefully, I set her down. Still panting and delirious she says, “I don’t regret it.”

I don’t understand her at first.

“Yesterday…the man I killed. I don’t regret it.” She blinks and I can’t tell if they’re tears or water. “I’d do it again. I’d kill anyone who tried to hurt you.”

I know I should be relieved—flattered, even—that she would say something like that. Instead, all I feel is fear.

“Don’t ever say that again.” I take her face in my hands and brush the tears away. “I don’t ever want you staining your hands with blood. Much less for the likes of me.”

She merely closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Oh Alex…” she whispers, so quietly I barely hear her over the rushing water. “It’s getting so hard…pretending to hate you all the time.”

Hating me is what protected her. It was her armor against me and this world I forced her into. Now, too much time has passed and that armor is wasting away, along with her determination to keep me at arm’s length. Selfishly, I want her to fall hopelessly, fatally, and absolutely detrimentally in love with me. However, if she does, what’ll happen when it’s finally time to send her home? Because she can’t stay here forever nor can I keep her, despite how badly I want to.

I made a promise I intend to honor. Keep her safe, get rid of Ibanez and Montenegro, and then send her back to her life in New York. Problem is, I’m not sure she wants to go back anymore.

I fear I’ve ruined her forever.

MURDER IN A TWO-WAY ROOM

August

Dahlia

T he garden is missing a gazebo. I’ve been working on a sketch for one for weeks.

Nothing I come up with is satisfactory. Should it be a folly or a rotunda? Pavilion or pergola style? How about the shape: square, rectangular, octagonal? I’ve drawn every type of roof—shingle, tile, wood—imagined every paint color, finish, and type of railing. Thus far every sketch has been ripped out of my journal and abandoned in a nearby trash bin.

Today’s design reject is an octagonal type with a shingled roof, wrought iron balusters, and white railing. With colored pencils, I color in the flowers, bushes, and vines, imagining what it would look like nestled between the trees and manmade pond. Behind it are the stables and further in the distance, mountains and the hiking trail. It’s beautiful.

But it isn’t right.

The style I drew is Victorian and looks out of place. The villa is too Mediterranean looking with its rust-colored stucco siding, terracotta roof, arched windows, and iron railing balconies. I almost tear the page out of my journal when I feel the weight of someone’s gaze on my shoulder.

“Most women find it creepy to be watched.”

Alejandro’s footsteps click against the winding stone path as he approaches. I move over on the lounge chair and he sits on the edge. “I didn’t want you to stop. I like watching you draw.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I can’t get it right.”

“Entonces sigue intentando. Lo que debe ser te llegará.”

My weak attempt at a smile draws a sigh from his lips. He reaches out and brushes a thumb over my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. And when he moves to kiss me, I lean forward all too eagerly, finally finding peace the moment his mouth meets mine.