Page 4 of Naked Truth

Chapter Three

Valentina

I letmyself be pulled along with the man I know only as Raoul. Does he have a last name? Or is he like a Disney villain, who only goes by his first name?

I bite my lip, trying not to giggle, and Raoul looks back at me, his eyes dark and hot. Everything about the man is dark and hot, though, down to his long, strong fingers as they pull me into the huge open courtyard. He doesn’t believe me—of course he doesn’t believe me, he’s a Disney villain. But like any intrepid Disney heroine, I will show him the error of his ways. I’ll prove to him I am Dominic Hernandez’s granddaughter, and there will be music and laughter all over again, just like there is at this fabulous birthday party!

Those thoughts ringing in my mind, I finally become aware of exactly how many people have assembled to enjoy Dom Hernandez’s bash. There are dozens jammed into this courtyard alone. The crush of guests would ordinarily be unbearable, but everyone seems to be swept along the tide of music and laughter—and undoubtedly the tequila being poured liberally at drink stations set up everywhere I look.

Then the music starts again and a cheer goes up. Raoul stops abruptly, turning me toward him, and immediately begins to move me into a fast-paced, energetic dance. He’s not only tall, hot, and ruthless…he’s also a damned good dancer. He moves like water, fluid and true, paying no attention to his own body. Instead he’s focused entirely on me. He smiles again, and I feel myself smiling as well, a surge of laughter bubbling from me as we turn and whirl in the crowd. I let myself get swept up by the music as well, and it’s only then, my guard finally dropping, that the emotion sweeps over me.

I did it! I screwed up my nerve and came to Dominic Hernandez’s house and did it! I found my grandfather!

Impulsively, I throw my arms around Raoul’s neck, letting out a squeal as he instantly adjusts and lifts me up, twirling me around. He flashes me that heartbreaking smile again, so at odds with the dark intensity of his gaze, and I burst into laughter.

“I can’t believe I found him. I did it. I did it!”

His eyes sharpen, but I rush on, in no mood to hear another of his denials. “You can’t possibly understand what this means for me. Do you know how long I’ve been searching for my grandfather?”

His hold tightens on me and his gaze narrows again. “Let me guess,” he asks derisively. “You always knew you were something special—you just didn’t know why? And you certainly never imagined you were the heiress to a tremendous fortune until one day someone whispered the truth in your ear?”

“Heiress?” I laugh again. “Are you crazy? I didn’t come here for money, I came to find my grandfather. My flesh and blood! My tía never let me forget that somewhere, there was a family waiting for me, somewhere, someone loved me besides her. I think she maybe knew more than she let on, but she never breathed so much as a hint of a name. I never even knew about the photos until after she died.”

“Photos,” he says sharply. I bite my lip. I’ve only shown him the one, of course. The others are still in my purse, zipped tight in another compartment. None of them are of my abuela, though. I have only the one photo that could prove the truth about who I am.

“They don’t matter.” I frown at him. “You could probably let me down, now. The music has stopped.”

He shrugs. “So it has.” But instead of holding me away from him as he eases me to the ground, he slides me down his body. There’s no missing the heavy bulge in his pants, and he clearly doesn’t want me to miss it.

As my gaze leaps to his, he smiles down at me. “Tell me about the other photos, Valentina. They’re in your purse?”

“No,” I say, the instinct to keep the photos safe, hidden from this man almost overwhelming, though I’m not sure why. “They’re in my bag, back at the hotel.”

“Ah, the hotel.” He nods, and I get the feeling he doesn’t believe me on that score, either. He shouldn’t. I didn’t want to spend the money on a hotel until I met the man who might be my grandfather, so I brought nothing more than I could fit in my purse. Money, a toothbrush, my photos, my phone. My tía always taught me to travel light, but even she would be proud of me this day.

“How long do you plan on staying in San Antonio, then?” Raoul presses, but another song has started—this one at a slower pace, which he takes full advantage of by pulling me close. I momentarily lose the thread of my focus as his masculine presence surrounds me. What did he ask? And why should I care?

“I’m sorry?” I murmur, slightly dazed.

He doesn’t repeat the question, but continues to stare down at me. “You do look like a Hernandez,” he muses, as if I’m not right in front of him. “High cheekbones, deep set eyes. Did you study the family well before you decided to get on a plane—where did you say you came from, again?”

I lift my chin. “I didn’t. You think I’m a con artist, but I can’t help that. I’ll submit to any tests you wish to give me. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. I will leave immediately and cause you no trouble. I don’t want anything but a family, Mr…. Mr….”

When he doesn’t immediately offer up his name, I scowl at him. “What is your name, anyway?”

“You know my name. Raoul.” The way he says it draws my attention to his mouth. Then again, everything seems to be drawing my attention to his mouth. I didn’t think anything could be more exotic than those perfect lips saying the word “Raoul…” until he finally follows it up with “Santiago.”

“Santiago,” I echo, still staring. “That’s such a…a lovely name—”

And I can’t help myself, I stretch myself up toward that beautiful mouth, my own lips parting.

Raoul doesn’t hesitate. He lowers his head the rest of the way, and captures my mouth in a kiss.

Instantly my body catches fire. I bring my hands up, twisting them in the fabric of his shirt, suddenly needing more than anything to feel his skin beneath my fingers. I thrust my tongue forward, desperately seeking a taste of him, and Raoul’s lips part, giving me access. The forbidden touch of his tongue against mine jolts me again, and I shift my hands from his chest to his face, cupping that beautiful, chiseled jaw, holding it fast as I kiss him—and kiss him—

He breaks away first. “Little bird,” he rumbles cautiously. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Oh dio, I hope so,” I breathe. I reach for him again, but to my surprise he evades my grasp. Instead he pulls back, tugging me past the musicians and into a covered passageway that leads from the corridor deeper into the house—maybe to the kitchens, or the bathrooms, or—

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