“The Rebello residence,” he says, straight to the point. “Stand down immediately. I need eyes all over the premises. Report back to me on who comes and goes. Day and night. Dispatch can wait a few days.”
I hug my chest when he ends the call and pockets his cell. He runs a hand over his hair where a crooked crown of thorns should sit. “Done. Now you’re indebted to me.”
Tomás Souza is a princely villain.
A blush of cherry red warms me all over. The scorching heat is molten, a flood of desire sweeping under my flesh, confusing and toxic. My fingers press the galloping pulse point in my throat, desperately seeking a way to ground myself.
“I don’t have any money to repay you.”
The tote bag hangs in the space separating us.
“Do I look like I need money?” he asks, his eyes hot enough to dry me all over and squeeze my pores until I sweat for him. “Get dressed, little liar. Inside this bag is a towel and some clothes. Do not dawdle. We have a body to dispose of.”