Page 37 of Gabriel
I snorted. “You’re too picky.”
“Colombians appreciate food. It’s like lovemaking—slow, savoring, and?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Why is it always about sex with you?”
“I never said a word about sex, and just for the record, you brought it up first when you mentioned kissing me.”
“I strictly meant kissing, not sex,” I lied shamelessly.
“Sure.” He rolled his eyes, but there was a playful glint in them. “Just admit it, Amara. Your mind is in the gutter, not mine.”
I snorted. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe you were describing food, not foreplay?”
He threw his head back and laughed—rich, unrestrained, the kind of sound that made the night feel warmer. I hated how much I liked it. Even with all the walls I’d carefully erected, something about that laugh was magnetic. I felt them quake, and it was enough to pull me back to my mission.
“Take my car,” he finally said. “I don’t want you roaming the streets alone at night.”
I nodded, not mentioning I was about to make a stop.
“Thanks,” I said, climbing behind the wheel with my backpack. I recited my number, although I suspected he already had it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He nodded. “I’ll text you the address and time.”
“I’ll wait with bated breath. There better be some tamales on the menu.”
He laughed. “I’ll try and oblige.”
The engine growled to life beneath my hands. As I headed toward the harbor—toward my yacht, my sister, my escape—I fought the pull in my chest. The urge to turn back, to say something I’d regret.
Gabriel
Ikept my eyes locked on the taillights as Amara pulled away from the curb.
I didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
The moment she was gone, I raised a hand toward the black Mercedes idling nearby—tinted windows, factory shine, the kind of car that didn’t just promise discretion, it demanded it. The engine kicked over with a low purr.
Luis eased the car around and rolled up beside me, window halfway down.
“You’ve got odd taste in women, Gabriel,” he said, voice dry as the desert. “Like, do you have a subscription to disasters, or is this just freelance work?”
I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, the cold leather welcome after the hours in the jungle.
“Are you saying that because she’s out of my league,” I muttered, “or because you’ve got unrequited feelings for your woman from Medellín?”
Luis grinned, tapping the steering wheel.
“Touché. But at least my woman didn’t have lethal connections and crazy fucking relatives. Or did you convenientlyforget the warning of those Satan twins and their little ambush from two years ago?”
“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” I grumbled.
“Allow me to jog your memory: they explicitly told you to stay away from their sister.”
I waved a hand dismissively. “That’s ancient history.”
He gave me a sharp look. “Ancient history? Jet could be scheming to get your sister. He and his sisters are enemies, and you’re busy falling under Amara’s spell.”
I hummed.
