Page 81 of When Lies Unfold

Muscles turning to wrought iron, I shove my dress back down, avoiding his eyes to grant myself a moment to recover. To gather my wits, because this—he—is quickly becoming an issue for me.

He retreats a step, but the oppressive weight of his attention rests heavily on me. When I attempt to sidestep him and escape, his arm darts out in front of me to stop me.

When I raise my eyes, they immediately clash with his. “Runnin’ away again, huh?” His lips flatten into a punishing line. “Just gonna get yours and leave me hangin’?”

I pin him with a haughty glare. “I didn’t realize you were keeping score.”

“You should know better”—his smirk is nothing short of menacing—“than to think I wouldn’t be.” Capturing my hand, he places my palm over the hard ridge of his cock. “This right here’s keepin’ score.”

With my other hand, I pat his shoulder, my tone pure condescension. “You should know better than to think I care.”

He leans in, lowering his voice. “While we’re on the topic…you should know better than to think I’ll let you outta here without leavin’ my mark.”

As if my skin registers his words, the abraded areas along my neck that have suffered from his scruff flare with heat.

I yank my wrist from his grip, and our gazes, filled with challenge, hold for a suspended moment. It’s a silent sparring match in its own right.

“If you think I’m lettin’ you ask Luis anythin’ besides the fuckin’ time”—without averting his eyes, he slowly shakes his head—“you’re wrong.”

I smile up at him prettily. “You might be the boss of these men, but that doesn’t extend to me.”

An edge of challenge colors his expression. “Wanna bet?”

Heaving out a dramatic sigh, I duck beneath his arm. “This conversation is boring.” I give a little wave without looking back, tossing out a casual See you later.

Before I turn the corner, of course—of freaking course—he gets in the last word. An unmistakable threat is engraved in his voice.

“Oh, I guaran-fuckin’-tee I’ll see you later, Miss Arias.”

35

LOLA

I run the wide-toothed comb through Alma’s damp hair, gently working through the tangles now that she’s bathed.

“What’re you wearin’ to dinner with my dad?”

I glance at the bathroom mirror, our eyes meeting briefly. “I’m not sure.” Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, I continue detangling her hair. “I have a few dresses I can choose from.”

“Are they fancy?”

I pause mid-combing. “Not really. Why?”

“’Cause when my dad has a business dinner, he always dresses real fancy.”

Well…shit. Did he say it was a business dinner? I suppose it’s a moot point since my budget doesn’t exactly allot for fancy cocktail dresses.

Once I’ve finished with her hair, she turns and hugs me. “Thanks, Lola.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

Releasing me, she takes my hand and leads me into her bedroom. We both stop short at the person waiting for us.

A stunning strapless red dress encases the woman’s body, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh, paired with matching crimson heels. Her makeup is flawless, and her hair falls in a perfectly straight, gleaming curtain of black.

I’m barefoot in my leggings and loose-fitting shirt overtop a basic sports bra, so this woman’s entire appearance makes me feel positively frumpy in comparison.

In one hand is a slim clutch while her other holds a small teddy bear. Alma scowls and points at the woman’s shoes with a grunt, but the woman ignores the reaction and advances instead.

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