Page 673 of One More Kiss

“Nineteen.”

His curiosity frosts over. Any wishful hope of this striking man becoming my savior disintegrates in one sentence. “Carina, mop this disgusting mess up.” He breaks our visual deadlock, finally giving me a chance to inhale deeply. “And do it thoroughly, or I’ll eliminate you ahead of schedule.”

A gust of air hisses through my clenched teeth. I nod obediently, secretly declaring him as the worst sinner of all. There’s no fairy tale with beautiful beasts and ball gowns. This is a bad dream in the waking state. A living nightmare where monsters prowl beneath dapper suits and wear devilish good looks as weapons.

Death had whispered to me once upon a time. Persistent despair will do that to a young girl blighted by misfortune. Nonetheless, it was my choice to roll the dice, desperately praying the suffering would end.

Since surviving against the cruel voices running riot in my brain, I had since learned to appreciate life. These days I’ll do whatever it takes to live a full life. And right now, I’m staring fate square in the eyes again—in the muscular form of a suave villain.

If I have to swill blood in a bucket, then so be it. It’s no big deal. My stomach is clad with steel.

“I’ll need a basin with hot water, strong disinfectant and disposable wipes,” I say quietly. “And a trash bag to throw away the soiled paper towels.”

His spine goes rigid as he studies me for a silent second. Black holes in the form of pupils appear to breathe as they expand and contract with the fluctuation of light and shadows.

Without speaking, he removes his mobile phone from his pocket and holds it to his ear. “Bring in the clean-up kit.” He listens to the guy on the other end, then replies. “The old tigers will enjoy a Mexican dinner. Put him in the truck.”

When he finishes the call, he pins me to the tiles with an icy stare and a ticking jaw. The hairs on my scalp bolt upright. Intuitively, my unwashed fingertips lift to the thread thin scar on my upper lip.

A growl works through his throat. “Take your fingers away from your mouth,” he snaps.

It’s a natural inbred instinct. One I can’t resist, not even under his command.

Darkness moves across his face. It’s a cocktail of revulsion and condemnation. A glare that chills me to my very bones, quivering from exhaustion. “I said move them.”

In three strides, we’re face to face. Expensive leather shoes to bare toes with chipped emerald polish. Every muscle in my body braces for certain brutality. I’m pretty sure he’s about to strangle me until he roughly grabs my forearms and lowers them like a lever.

The sensation of his skin electrocutes trillions of responsive cells. A ferocious scowl fixes on the hand still looping my arm. “You’ve got a dead man’s blood on your hands. Don’t put your fingers near your mouth.”

A clatter in the background startles me. My head spins from his musky close proximity. Anger and humiliation trickles through my heated veins, made hotter by the dark delight I secretly harbor. The skin beneath his touch catches fire and my stomach knots.

“For fuck’s sake, Tomás. Don’t start this shit. Not today.” Elias slams his palms on the table. “Clean the floor, girl, before my son loses his shit over the mess.”

Tomás growls under his breath and steps to the side, keeping his eyes fixed on my mouth. “Once you’ve finished putting this room back to normal…” He angles away from me and jerks a pointed finger at the bloody mess. “You’ll come with me to feed the tigers circling the plantation.”

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