around his neck and murmured against his mouth, “We re-evaluate.”
He chuckled. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“Almost,” she whispered, nuzzling his neck. “I still don’t know how I can live without this every day.” Her hand trailed down the front of his shirt, feeling the crinkle of the dark hairs underneath. Her fingers edged along the front of his jeans, which were already tented by his arousal, and cupped the bulge they found there.
“I’ll make it up to you every time I come back,” he vowed, covering her hand and pressing it with his own. His mouth found hers again and he kissed her, long and slow and deep. That kiss was a pact made by two people with their own rules. It was a promise of possession and freedom, of love and passion. It both sealed their past and anointed their future. Ali took Alejandro’s hand and led him back into the house.
***
Bobby slowed the Escalade and crept past the old industrial park. There had been movement all week—trucks in and out, bikes in and out, even a brief visit from Sheriff Hennessy. Once again the gates were closed, but there was activity behind the chain link fence that surrounded the complex. He focused until his eyes landed on the tall man with the dark beard. He watched him move about, giving orders, disappearing and reappearing again. Always that swagger like he owned the world. Like he was a king instead of a punk from the wrong side of town who’d seen easy money in a life of crime.
Why, Ali? Bobby couldn’t keep his eyes from Alejandro Rojas, couldn’t stop imagining those criminal hands all over her. Like the devil and an angel—black leather and dark looks soiling her wings and staining her purity.
She’d lied and Bobby knew it was a lie when the words fell so easily from her tongue. Yet he hoped—dared to hope—that Alejandro Rojas was just a knee-jerk reaction to stress, a passing fling. Instead, the bastard became a permanent fixture. Discreet as Ali might have been, Alejandro's bike was parked at her house several nights a week. The thought of Alejandro in the same bed Bobby had so often slept in with Ali turned his stomach. It made him crazy.
Once Bobby even parked at the end of her driveway. He walked halfway up and stood watching the lights flicker as they moved about within the house. Then the lights winked out, one by one save for the lone dim flicker in her bedroom. Bobby stood motionless on the gravel that night, staring at the darkened windows until he swore he could hear Ali’s cries of passion. Then he drove out to the new house, half-finished and hulking in the moonlight, and drank until the satisfied sighs died in his ears and things made sense again.
A life of politics hadn’t been his plan, either. He cared about the issues they crafted the basis of his campaign around, but he didn’t care about the public eye half as much as his father. He felt as trapped as she had by the whole thing, but they could have made it work, or at least tried. Damn it, Ali. Why couldn’t you just wait? Why couldn't you just hang on? Something twisted deep in his chest as he pictured her face, her beautiful smile and laughing gray eyes. He closed his eyes and they were on the beach in St. Maarten again, Ali in that white bikini coming out of the water like a goddess. The twisting turned to a sharp pain and he welcomed how alive it made him feel.
You belong with me, Ali. You’ll be my wife, the mother of my beautiful children, the First Lady of Texas. You’ll be adored by the public and every door will open to you. To us.
He can’t give you any of that. He’s a thug, a lowlife, a worthless piece of shit not fit to breathe the same air as you. The only thing he can offer you is danger. The only thing he can promise you is pain.
Come back to me, Sugar and I'll show you how good it can be again. I'll take care of you. I'll love you until you forget his face, his name, and
He chuckled. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“Almost,” she whispered, nuzzling his neck. “I still don’t know how I can live without this every day.” Her hand trailed down the front of his shirt, feeling the crinkle of the dark hairs underneath. Her fingers edged along the front of his jeans, which were already tented by his arousal, and cupped the bulge they found there.
“I’ll make it up to you every time I come back,” he vowed, covering her hand and pressing it with his own. His mouth found hers again and he kissed her, long and slow and deep. That kiss was a pact made by two people with their own rules. It was a promise of possession and freedom, of love and passion. It both sealed their past and anointed their future. Ali took Alejandro’s hand and led him back into the house.
***
Bobby slowed the Escalade and crept past the old industrial park. There had been movement all week—trucks in and out, bikes in and out, even a brief visit from Sheriff Hennessy. Once again the gates were closed, but there was activity behind the chain link fence that surrounded the complex. He focused until his eyes landed on the tall man with the dark beard. He watched him move about, giving orders, disappearing and reappearing again. Always that swagger like he owned the world. Like he was a king instead of a punk from the wrong side of town who’d seen easy money in a life of crime.
Why, Ali? Bobby couldn’t keep his eyes from Alejandro Rojas, couldn’t stop imagining those criminal hands all over her. Like the devil and an angel—black leather and dark looks soiling her wings and staining her purity.
She’d lied and Bobby knew it was a lie when the words fell so easily from her tongue. Yet he hoped—dared to hope—that Alejandro Rojas was just a knee-jerk reaction to stress, a passing fling. Instead, the bastard became a permanent fixture. Discreet as Ali might have been, Alejandro's bike was parked at her house several nights a week. The thought of Alejandro in the same bed Bobby had so often slept in with Ali turned his stomach. It made him crazy.
Once Bobby even parked at the end of her driveway. He walked halfway up and stood watching the lights flicker as they moved about within the house. Then the lights winked out, one by one save for the lone dim flicker in her bedroom. Bobby stood motionless on the gravel that night, staring at the darkened windows until he swore he could hear Ali’s cries of passion. Then he drove out to the new house, half-finished and hulking in the moonlight, and drank until the satisfied sighs died in his ears and things made sense again.
A life of politics hadn’t been his plan, either. He cared about the issues they crafted the basis of his campaign around, but he didn’t care about the public eye half as much as his father. He felt as trapped as she had by the whole thing, but they could have made it work, or at least tried. Damn it, Ali. Why couldn’t you just wait? Why couldn't you just hang on? Something twisted deep in his chest as he pictured her face, her beautiful smile and laughing gray eyes. He closed his eyes and they were on the beach in St. Maarten again, Ali in that white bikini coming out of the water like a goddess. The twisting turned to a sharp pain and he welcomed how alive it made him feel.
You belong with me, Ali. You’ll be my wife, the mother of my beautiful children, the First Lady of Texas. You’ll be adored by the public and every door will open to you. To us.
He can’t give you any of that. He’s a thug, a lowlife, a worthless piece of shit not fit to breathe the same air as you. The only thing he can offer you is danger. The only thing he can promise you is pain.
Come back to me, Sugar and I'll show you how good it can be again. I'll take care of you. I'll love you until you forget his face, his name, and
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