"You don't think I've got skills?"
Time to give her a dose of reality. "I'm not denying you have skills, Dalila. Just not the skill to fight off someone who might want to put their hands where you don't want them. You might be smart, but you sure don't act like it sometimes."
"Why do you care about me?"
"I don't."
She steps closer. "But you do. You care so much you saved me from that guy at the concert, and let me kiss you . . . and you threatened Rico . . . because you care."
"I don't give a shit about anything but gettin' ahead in boxing."
"That's a lie." She reaches out for me. "You care about me, Ryan. Admit it."
My breath hitches as she steps so close I can feel the heat of her skin against mine. Without hesitation, she reaches up on her toes and her sexy, full lips meet mine. They're soft and wet and full of passion. I hate myself as I take hungry possession of her mouth. I'm shocked when her body relaxes and I want nothing more than to keep kissing her.
My lips are still on hers as my tongue instinctively darts out, taking this kiss to the next level.
Instead of turning her face away or laughing at my eagerness, her tongue darts out and meets mine. All bets are off as our tongues slide against each other's and our kiss deepens. Damn, why is my body reacting so much to this girl?
As she moans against my lips and whispers, "Ryan," I'm well aware I could be punched or kneed at any second, but at this point I'd deserve it. Hell, I deserve to be fired for letting this happen.
Without breaking our heated kiss, I gently cup her face in my hands. Her arms wrap around me.
When I finally pull back and end our kiss, Dalila is looking up at me with big brown eyes full of desire. "I proved my point," she says breathlessly. "I win this round."
Eighteen
Dalila
After I tell him that I win this round, I grab the lapels of his jacket and urge him closer. "Kiss me again," I order. My heart is racing. I'm not usually this bold or assertive, but something comes over me. I don't want to let this moment pass.
We're in the back of the gardens close to the fields behind our house where nobody can see us.
I've kissed a few boys before, but never like this. My knees are weak and my entire body is tingling. This whole kiss started because I wanted to prove my point that he cared for me. I didn't plan to kiss him, but as soon as he looked down at me with those blazing blue eyes I couldn't resist.
"We shouldn't do this," he says.
I bite my bottom lip. "I know."
As he leans in and kisses me again with those strong lips and that sexy, experienced tongue, a loud pop pierces the air. Before I can even contemplate what's happening, Ryan pushes me to the ground and is on top of me. He's shielding me with his body.
"What's going on?" I ask in a panic, my entire body shaking.
"Get down! It's a shooter!" Ryan yells. "Don't move."
Another pop echoes in the distance, and I wince. I can't process this right now. This isn't happening.
Ryan radios for backup on his walkie-talkie and swiftly informs the other bodyguards there's a shooter in the field behind our house.
This isn't my life, not here at La Joya de Sandoval. At least it wasn't before my father started representing Santiago Vega. I grab the lapels of Ryan's jacket as tears stream down my face. "My family needs to be safe, Ryan. My family and friends are in the house. We need to warn them!"
"The bodyguards are handling it," Ryan explains. "I promise. Everyone inside is safe. Your father hired a lot of men to protect your home."
My mind is freaking out and quickly running through the worst-possible scenarios. "What if there's a shooter inside?"
Ryan gathers me into his arms and hugs me tightly, a gesture to comfort me. He can't guarantee there isn't a shooter inside. "I promise not to leave until you're safe. Okay?"
"I'm scared," I tell him, tears welling in my eyes. "Who is it? Who'd want to hurt us?"
"I don't know." He brushes stray strands of hair out of my face. "I got you. Don't panic."
Ryan's friend Mateo is rushing toward us with a concerned look on his face. "The house is secure. Which direction were the shots coming from?"
"I don't know, man," Ryan says. "Somewhere in the field. Could've been any direction."
Another shot is fired.
"Shit," Mateo cries out, visibly disturbed, before jumping the wall and running into the line of fire. "I'm going after that pendejo."
"Why would he run toward the shooter, Ryan?" I ask, my voice trembling. "He's going to get killed."
Ryan doesn't answer. My entire body is frozen in fear as Ryan's body shields me. "I need to get you into the house. It's not safe here."
"I can't move," I tell him in a panicked voice. "I'm too scared."
Another pop pop pop fills the air and I suck in a horrified breath. "Mateo!"
"He knows what he's doing, Dalila. Hold on to me," Ryan urges as he swoops me into his arms and heads for the house. Another pop. And another.
I think we're safely in the house when I hear another pop. Ryan swears under his breath.
"What? What's wrong?" I ask as he rushes me through the line of bodyguards and into the house, where the guests are eerily quiet as the head bodyguard, Gerardo, tells them to stay calm.
"Nothing's wrong, Dalila." He sets me down and steps back. "Go sit with your family."
I look at the ground and realize it's not nothing. Fresh blood drops from Ryan's side onto the floor.
And I scream.
Gerardo rushes the bleeding Ryan into the back hallway away from guests.
"How bad is he hurt?" I blurt out, my lips trembling uncontrollably as I follow them.
My distressed Papa is behind us. "Put him in the bedroom on the first floor while I talk to the police. Dalila, stay with your sisters in the courtyard," he says in a frosty, clipped tone that makes me want to shrink into myself.
Papa turns to our guests, explaining that the shooter is being pursued by the hired security. I don't miss the tense look on his face as he focuses his gaze on Don Cruz and Rico as if they're somehow responsible for this dangerous turn of events.
"Why is this happening?" I frantically ask my father. "Who'd want to hurt us? Is Santiago Vega involved in this?" I follow him to the guest bedroom near the back of our house. I'm still agitated and nervous, which seems to mimic everyone in my house right now. "Are Las Calaveras involved?"
"Don't say that name in this house, Dalila."
"Why not?"
"Do as I ask. Go to the courtyard with your sisters," Papa commands. "We need to act as normal as possible. No more talk of cartels, ever."
"Normal? Nothing about this is normal," I cry out. I can't help but blame him, as if his connections with all of those new clients and colleagues attending my birthday party are the reason we're in danger.
The reason Ryan is hurt.
"Calm down," Papa says. "I'll take care of this."
His words register, but all I can think about is that Ryan doesn't have family here to take care of him. And now my family has become a target because of Papa's associations. A pang of anger enters my heart and settles there.
As I enter our guest room, I see Ryan sitting on the edge of the bed. There's a lump in my throat as I eye the bloodstained towel he's holding at his side.
Papa walks up to him. "Thank you for protecting my daughter."
"It's my job," Ryan says.
"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Papa says the words with no emotion, like this is a business meeting.
"No," Ryan replies. I notice he hasn't made eye contact with me since I walked into the room. "I'll be fine, Don Sandoval. It's a surface wound."
"Good." Papa glances at Ryan's bloodied side, then rubs his hands together as if the situation is under control. "I'll send in Lola and make sure she bandages you properly. Stay here tonight. I'll have you driven home in the morning."
"Thank you, sir, but I'll be fine," he says. "
As soon as I clean up, I'll go back to my post. I've still got a job to do. Mateo went after the shooter and might be hurt."
My dad shakes his head. "You'll stay in this room and sleep here tonight. You're done for the night."
"Mateo is accounted for," Gerardo chimes in.
Ryan tosses the towel aside as if the wound will miraculously heal on its own. "Seriously, Don Sandoval. I can go out there and do my job--"
"Do what my father says, Ryan," I blurt out from the doorway. "Please."
"Dalila, you know me. I'm not a quitter," Ryan says.
Papa furrows his brow, obviously confused that Ryan and I already know each other. "Dalila, te quiero afuera de este cuarto." When I open my mouth to protest being ordered out of the room, he stands stiffly and says, "Ahorita. Now."
Nineteen
Ryan
Tonight definitely didn't turn out as planned. I thought I'd be doing a bogus bodyguard job for some rich Mexican girl. When it turned out to be Dalila's party, and I saw her in that sexy red dress that hugged her curves, I knew I was in trouble. When she kissed me it should have been a bonus, but instead it made me realize how much I want her.
The gunshot was a wake-up call in more ways than one.
After Dalila and her father left the guest room, the woman named Lola came in and dressed my wound. She handed me a pair of cotton jogging pants and a T-shirt to wear to replace my mangled suit. The bullet grazed my side, but it didn't do much damage. It bled a lot, though, all over Mateo's friend's white shirt. Now the shirt has a big bloodstain and a hole in it. The suit jacket didn't fare much better.
I didn't see the shooter, but I'm pretty sure he had an automatic weapon. Luckily, his aim was way off. If he'd been a good shot, I wouldn't be here to analyze what happened. I'd be dead.
I can hear the last guests leaving when Mateo appears in the doorway. "How're you holding up, bro?"
"I'm fine. The bullet just grazed me." I look down at the bandage on my side. "Looks worse than it is. I swear when you jumped over the wall I thought you'd be jumpin' to your death."
"Didn't I ever tell you I'm bulletproof?"
"Dude, nobody's bulletproof."
"Maybe it's luck then. Or I'm just luckier than you." He inspects my bandage. "They told me I couldn't check on you until my shift was over. Sorry about that."
"It's cool," I tell him. "I'll be fine in the morning."
"At least you can brag about surviving a gunshot wound." Leave it to Mateo to look at the bright side. "Gives you street cred. As a gringo, you gotta take whatever cred you can."
"I don't need street cred, Mateo."
"Ooh . . . I forgot. My boy's bein' trained by the one and only Juan Camacho." He holds up his hands mockingly. "No other street cred needed."
I gesture to the big sculpture in the shape of a cobra in the corner of the room. "You mocking me in front of the cobra?"
"What the fuck is that thing?" He saunters over to the silver sculpture and flicks the sharp gold fangs sticking out of the cobra's open jaws. "You think this shit is real gold? Man, these people have way too much dinero. Did you see that spread downstairs? You'd think it was the presidential inauguration with all that damn food. And that sniper who got a piece of you, shootin' up this place as if it's filled with diplomats and royalty?" He hesitates. "Or kingpins. I swear this life is unreal."
"Did they find the guy who shot me?" I ask.
"Don't know." He shrugs. "I didn't ask the dude in charge, and he didn't offer any info. I'm pretty sure Don Sandoval is connected to some cartel."
I was thinking the same thing. From the huge compound they live in to the massive amount of security tonight . . . my protective instincts perk up. "Who or what was being targeted?" Were they there to try to kidnap Dalila or just cause havoc?
"I have no fuckin' clue, man." He walks over to my jacket and shirt strewn across the back of a chair. He fingers the hole in the jacket and stares at it, amused. "Why are you so interested?"
I shrug. "I got shot, Mateo. I'm kind of involved now, you know."
He crosses his arms on his chest. "Maybe you're involved because you're hot for the birthday girl."
"No. It's definitely not that," I tell him. "My focus is on boxing, not girls."
"Uh-huh," he says, unconvinced. "Who wouldn't like to date above their means for a night, or longer?"
I shake my head. I'm not going to end up like my dad. "Not me."
"Well, I would. But I'm not you." He picks up the suit from the chair and tells me he'll figure out how to get it back to his friend. "You think Gerardo will notice the hole and bloodstain when I give it back to him?" he asks.
"If he's got half a brain he will."
"Here," he says as he tosses an envelope onto the bed. "Two hundred cold hard American dollars."
"How much do you think your friend will want to replace the damaged suit?" I wave the envelope, fanning myself. "If you say two hundred, I'm gonna kill you."
"I'll cover it," Mateo says. "It was my fault you took this job in the first place."
"I can't let you do that."
Mateo holds a hand up. "What are friends for if not to bail each other out. Right? Besides, if I pay my friend off for you, you owe me one."
"All right, man. Thanks a lot."
"Good luck tonight," he says as he pulls his cell out of his pocket and takes a selfie with me in the background. "I'll bet my left nut that sleepin' on an expensive mattress will make you crave the good life, especially if the rich chick finds her way into it."
"Not gonna happen."
He raises a brow. "I'll bet you two hundred dollars it will."
"I'm not takin' that bet."
He laughs heartily. "Well, I'll catch you on the poor side of town, amigo." He pushes down on the mattress, feeling its softness. "Makes me wish I was the one with the bullet hole in my side." With a flick of his wrist he waves and walks out of the room.
After he's gone, I lie on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. For the first time in what seems like forever, my body sinks into a mattress that isn't made out of gym mats.
It's late, but I can't sleep. I keep tossing and turning while attempting to forget the stinging pain in my side. When I close my eyes, all I can see is a Mexican beauty in a red dress . . . with her lips on mine. I slowly relax and at some point fall asleep.
It's hours later when I wake up and, for a second, forget where I am. The stinging in my side is a reminder of what happened and that I'm in Dalila's house. The events of the party flash before me. Kissing Dalila. The shooter. Wondering if Dalila's father is truly some kind of drug lord. Hell, for all I know he's being targeted by some rival cartel because of his connections.
What the hell am I doing coming up with stupid, random thoughts that don't make sense? It just underscores the fact that I don't have a clue how things work in Mexico.
My stomach grumbles and I realize I haven't eaten anything. After she bandaged me up, Lola told me to grab something from the kitchen if I got hungry.
It's two o'clock in the morning. I think about what Mateo said--that there was a shit ton of food at the party. Suddenly I feel hungry enough to take a big chunk out of those leftovers, so I head out of the room in search of some fancy grub.
The house is eerily quiet. The only sounds are the humming of the portable air conditioners and fans throughout the house.
When I reach the kitchen, I expect to be alone. It's dark and I figure everyone is asleep, but I stop in my tracks as I see a silhouette by the refrigerator.
It's Dalila, holding open the refrigerator door with the light shining on her silky nightgown.
Damn.
She looks more angelic now with her flowing nightgown and her hair settling over her shoulders and running down her back. I should alert her that I'm here, but just watching her is mesmerizing. I'm not usually speechless, but when it comes to this one girl I'm at a loss for words.
She pulls out a glass pitcher and closes the fridge.
I clea
r my throat, alerting her to my presence.
She gives a little shriek before I walk into the glow cast by the dim nightlight on the counter. Her hand goes to her heart as she lets out a sigh of relief. "You're still here?"
"Yep. Your old man didn't really give me a choice."
Her eyes dart to the bandage. "Are you okay? Are you in pain?"
"I'll let you know after boxing practice later today."
"You at least have to take a few days off, Ryan," she says. "You're injured."
"No days off for me. Besides, it'll heal quick. The bullet just grazed the skin." I gesture to the clock above the microwave, my movements seeming stiff and unnatural. What is it about this girl that makes me nervous? She's just a girl you kissed, nothing more, I try to tell myself. "It's late. Why are you up?"
She sighs. "I couldn't sleep. I'm so freaked out by what happened tonight. I know the police said they'd do extra patrols around our house, but I have a feeling of dread deep in the pit of my stomach that tonight was just the beginning."
"Of what?"
"I don't know." She shakes her head as if shaking off negative thoughts. "I don't want to talk about it. Papa said Lola took care of your wound. I would have come by to see you, but my father was watching me and insisted I leave you alone."
"Smart man," I mumble.
She tilts her head to the side in an innocent gesture. "Why would you say that?"
"Because I'm not good for you. And you're not good for me." I pop a grape from the fruit bowl into my mouth, trying to make light of the conversation. "If there were somethin' going on between us, it'd be a bad thing."
I take in the sight of her nightgown clinging to her body. I have the urge to pull her close and this time kiss her without any distractions.
What am I thinking? The only reason she kissed me in the first place was to make a point, not because she really wanted to make out. I need to stop thinking about that kiss. To stop myself from digging a deeper hole or acting like a complete moron, I open the fridge and peruse its contents. Boxing. Boxing is my only focus, the one thing I'm good at. Anything else puts me dangerously close to following in my father's footsteps.
"Are you hungry?" Dalila asks, coming up behind me.
I try to ignore the heated electricity in the air between us. "Very."
Think about the food, Ryan. Not Dalila.
There's a lot of food staring back at me, but I can't focus. I absently start pulling out random platters.