Page 88 of Hit Man
“And your architectural plans?”
My lips twitch at how thoughtful his question is. “I have duplicate copies in my purse. The larger plans are back in my apartment but no way am I going to risk retrieving them. The Hotel Dauphine downtown is nice. I stayed there when I first arrived in Mexico City. It’ll do for the time being.” Until the situation settles enough that I can make my next step, whether that’s staying in Mexico City or leaving for home to secure funding for my ABB project. I study his expression, gauging his reaction. Unsure if he asked me about my things because crazy-sex-time is over or for another reason.
He nods. All signs of his earlier, rather vocal, expressiveness disappearing. Once more, he’s hard to read. I still feel the pull of him even when he’s pushing me away.
A buzzer goes off and I jump.
Diego glances at his watch, then at me. “Finish your coffee. I’ll be right back.”
He disappears into a room off of the living area, an office that I only catch a glimpse of as he opens then closes the door. A few seconds later, he returns and exits the apartment.
I frown. What is going on? My coffee finished, I wander back into the kitchen and begin washing the dishes from this morning’s breakfast. There’s a dishwasher that looks brand-new but it gives me something to do while I wonder about Diego.
Not the DEA.
Not Interpol, but close.
Works security, and it’s highly secretive.
I sigh. Not a drug dealer—so he repeatedly has insisted.
Dishes finished, I’m no closer to putting the pieces together.
Diego returns, holding a large manila envelope.
“Grab your stuff and we’ll go for a ride.”
“You’ll drop me off downtown?”
He doesn’t answer me but disappears into the office.
With a heavy heart, I collect my things. I go and stand by the door, biting my lip and waiting for him to return. I’ve never been the meek type. Awkward maybe, uncomfortable in situations when I’ve no knowledge base to draw from. Saying good-bye to a man whose scent I can smell on my skin is as far from my realm of experience as it gets. I never anticipated how this would . . . feel. The tightness in my throat, the mixed bag of emotions flowing through me.
I watch him return with a set of keys in his hands.
“Thank you for helping me.”
He stares at me, hard.
I gasp as, with lightning-fast movements, he’s on me. His lips find mine, his tongue invading, seeking, taking.
I drop my bag.
His keys ring out as they hit the floor.
He lifts me and pins my back to the door. My skirt is worked up over my hips, my panties ripped to the side.
Naughty. So naughty.
With a muttered curse, he slams into me. It feels so good my eyes roll back in my head and I moan.
Holding me steady and firmly anchored to the door, he drives into me, setting a frantic pace. Taking. Taking. Taking. Wanting. Wanting. Wanting.
Another hard thrust and my head hits the door. His hardness drags across my channel, the sweet friction of his slow withdrawal causing me to pant.
He fucks me like a man on a mission.
And all I can do is hold onto him for dear life.
