Page 20 of Devil's Bride

“We stay with her,” Antonio stated.

I glanced into the room, noticing Mr. Torres had his back turned to us. He had his hands in the pockets of his trousers and was staring out glass doors onto what appeared to be a gorgeouswell-lit patio full of tropical greenery. I could also see a pool off to the side.

“Is he unarmed as well?” I asked.

“I assure you that there are to be no weapons inside my home on this night.”

An instant jolt of current settled into my nervous stomach. His voice was richer than I’d thought, the deep baritone providing a sense of a soft blanket rubbing against my naked skin.

“I’ll be fine,” I answered to my men. “I doubt Mr. Torres wants his lovely white furniture to be permanently stained red.”

Emiliano issued yet another growl, but nodded and backed off, one of the guards closing the door.

I took another step inside as my host chuckled.

“Did you have any issue finding my home?” he asked.

“I’m pretty good with GPS coordinates,la parca. Or would you prefer I call youel carnicero sangriento?”

My distaste for him was instantaneous. There was no reason other than because he so obviously lorded his wealth over everyone.

“Bloody butcher. That name always pleased me. What I prefer I cannot often have, Madame Morales, or would you prefer I call you Daddy’s little girl?” He slowly turned around and despite my anger and his obvious amusement, we both registered instant recognition, our eyes opening wide.

I took several steps closer, my heels tapping against the tile floor as I allowed the horrible images of the night before to trash my mind.

Blood.

People running.

Tables being knocked over.

And a man with controlling black eyes and lips meant for long nights of kissing. A man so handsome my heart had ached the moment he’d touched me, my breath stolen when he’d dared kiss me.

That’s when I knew what had happened, the comprehension that he’d been inside the restaurant for a reason jerking my anger to the surface. “You fucking bastard. You killed my father. Now, I’m going to do everything in my power to destroy your entire world and in the end, I will put a knife through your cold, black heart.”

My voice had increased enough the door was flung open, footsteps heard from behind me.

Jago threw up his hand, shaking his head. “There is no issue, Benito. We are just beginning our discussion.”

“You’re certain, Mr. Torres?”

“Absolutely. We’re fine. Aren’t we, Genevieve?”

His use of my first name infuriated me even more. The audacity of the man was outrageous. However, my outburst wouldn’t bode well for my reputation or determining what in the hell the man wanted.

“We’re perfectly fine.” My answer was succinct and I did my best to suck back my rage.

“Do not interrupt us again,” he told his soldier.

The door was once again closed and Jago took a step closer. It was difficult not to flinch. When he continued crowding my space, the same electricity I’d felt outside in the hallway of the restaurant tingled my skin.

He was taller than I’d remembered, at least six foot four. I don’t know what I’d expected, but seeing him in charcoal linen trousers, a lighter shade matching suit jacket with the sleeves rolled up, and a tight white tee shirt that accentuated his incredible muscular chest floored me.

His forearms were covered in dark swirls, the ink continuing to his upper hands. I also noticed scrolled black lines resembling vines extending from the thin collar of his shirt, encasing the thick cords on both sides of his neck. Wearing loafers and no socks, he was stylish with a dangerous twist.

The man was sexy as hell.

But I refused to allow him to see a single twitch in my facial expression.

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