Alejandro moved across the room. I swallowed hard. I wanted him to climb into bed with me and shove his dick inside me. No. No, I didn’t. I blinked. Yep. I did. I so did.
“Just checking on you,” he whispered. He leaned close to me. My heart hammered. He bit his lip. My eyes closed, and I tipped my head up, waiting for him to put his lips to mine. “Goodnight, Ellie,” he said, moving back.
Asshole. He came in here just to tease me. I clenched my jaw. Now he knew I wanted him too. He walked back to the door.
“Ellie,” he said without turning around. “If you want some company tonight, just open your door.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I imagined his cocky grin. He put the ball in my court. I closed my eyes, thinking of his hands on my body, his hard cock between my legs. My body reacted to his, quivering, pulsing, growing wet and warm.
Fuck. Me.
No.
Fuck him.
I rolled over, glad I took the pain pills offered to me. A dull headache was starting to form, and I hoped I could sleep it off before it hit. I tossed and turned for what felt like hours before I fell asleep.
*
The next two days passed exactly the same. I was stuck in the guest room. Food was brought to me three times, and someone brought me a few more shopping bags with expensive clothes and shoes. The days passed slowly, and I was a bit bored, but there was something almost enjoyable about being here.
The bed, the bathroom, the couture clothes…they were all things I could never afford. The food was wonderful, and I was never once hungry. I spent most of my time sleeping, catching up on all I missed. These two days spent locked in the guestroom almost felt like a retreat.
And every night Alejandro came in my room, making pointless small talk. Every time, he left me with the offer of sex…but I had to come to him. And every night I was tempted, but I resisted going to his room.
I wanted to, badly, and the more Alejandro and I talked, the more comfortable I felt around him. It was stupid, and I knew it, to start trusting him. He was a bad, bad man. He did bad, bad things. There was a little voice inside me telling me to run at the first chance I got. I didn’t have to go home, but I should go somewhere—anywhere—that wasn’t here.
But another voice inside me told me to stay. Alejandro’s tough, bad boy exterior was covering something up, and at times I thought I saw his façade falter, and I wanted to know more. I could see the stress he was carrying, and I wanted to do something to help alleviate it.
It was crazy, and I knew it. But the heart wants what the heart wants, right? Well, in this case it was my sex drive, not my heart. And it wanted Alejandro to fuck it. That’s all I needed. Once I got it out of my system, I could think clearly.
On the third evening, Alejandro opened the door to my room—without knocking of course.
“Come downstairs,” he said shortly. “Have dinner with me.”
I pushed my eyebrows together. “Uh, okay.” My heart skipped a beat as soon as I saw him. His dark eyes were muddled with stress and tiredness and, I narrowed my eyes as I stood, was that blood on his shirt?
I quickly looked him up and down. It wasn’t his blood. Fuck. I swallowed hard and let out a breath.
“You look nice,” he said, and I instantly blushed. The clothes I’d been given were nice. Very nice. But I didn’t have makeup on, nor had I done anything more to my hair than brush it and twist it in a bun at the nape of my neck. I might have been planning on curling my hair before he came in before heading to bed.
“Thanks. So do you,” I blurted. Alejandro turned, not before I caught the amusement in his eyes. He knew he looked good.
Fuck him.
Dinner was ready when we got downstairs. The fact that he ate in the kitchen and not the dining room surprised me. Then again, I was basing my assumptions of how drug cartels led their lives from movies. Having a low-key meal at the breakfast table didn’t look good on the big screen.
“So,” I started, compelled to say something, “how was your day?”
He picked up a glass of water, flicking his eyes to me with a look that said “did you really just ask me that”?
I bit my lip and nodded. “Right. Top-secret bad stuff. How could I forget?” My stomach grumbled. Though I found the food too spicy, I couldn’t deny it was good. Really good.
We ate in silence for a few minutes. I was halfway done with my enchilada when Alejandro spoke.
“Is it cold in Indianapolis?” he asked.
I shrugged as I finished chewing, used to his random questioning and small talk by now. “Not right now. It gets cold in the winter. But,” I paused to take a drink of water, “I used to live in northern Michigan. Indy winters don’t compare.”