Page 18 of Hidden While In Sight

Hannah’s empty hands brushed against the side of her pants, very much like her son’s had before.

Diego caught her staring at his tattooed forearm before her gaze darted away.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “He shouldn’t have been bothering you.”

“No bother at all.” Diego scooted out and rose, wiping his hands against his jeans. “He was a help actually. Much more neighborly than his parents.”

Hannah’s cheeks flushed a light pink, and her eyes flew up to meet his. She was close enough for him to see the green flecks shining in the sunlight. “That’s—” Her face paled as she cut herself off, letting her head drop like a beaten dog who knew better than to bark.

Diego hated it. He stuck his hand into her view. “I’m Diego,” he reminded her.

Hannah slowly took his hand. The bones in hers felt fragile, like he’d break them if he squeezed. Her thumb brushed the tail of his tattooed tiger; the move would have been imperceptible except for the fact that Diego could feel nothing else, even after she pulled away.

Well, shit. Ashford’s wife had a thing for his tattoos.

Diego shouldn’t have liked that as much as he did. He wished he hadn’t worn a shirt again, so he could have her gaze roaming all over his chest.

Her hand closed into a fist and dropped to her side as if she wanted to hold on to the memory of his touch.

Diego was projecting. This woman hadn’t been watching him every moment of the day like he had her. She had her own shit going on and probably didn’t even remember him.

Her chin lifted, and her face looked a tad tighter than usual as she met his eyes again.

“Do you know my husband?”

Diego was happier than he should have been that she hadn’t scampered off like her son. “Now, why would you ask me something like that, mami?” he murmured, the term falling out of his lips naturally and echoing in his head.

“I—” Hannah swallowed, losing her nerve. “Never mind.”

“Do you know something about your husband, Hannah? Something you think I know?”

She shook her head, her fist twitching by her side.

Diego leaned against the seat of the bike, running a hand along it as he soaked her in, waiting for her to run away. That she didn’t caused his eyes to narrow.

She lifted her head again, slowly this time, almost like there were weights trying to hold it down. “Do you really live here?” she asked.

His lips curled. “Saying I don’t belong?”

Her gaze shifted to his tattooed hand resting on the motorcycle. “I hadn’t heard your motorcycle before today.” Her eyes roamed over the handlebars, the engine block, and her pupils dilated.

His smile felt less brittle as he realized she was interested in the bike. “I’m just fixing it for a friend. Why? Angling for a ride?” he teased.

That slight pinkness rose to her cheeks again as she hesitated, and the thought that she did want that toyed with his mind.

“I couldn’t,” she said, her voice so low, like she was convincing herself.

This woman wanted a chance to feel alive. Diego was tempted to toss her over his shoulder and take her away from her shitty life. He wasn’t above kidnapping. “I guess not,” he said instead. “No telling what your husband would do if he came home to see you clinging to me and enjoying every minute of it.”

Her face darted upward then, a sliver of pain slipping over it almost too quickly to catch. Then her eyes shuttered and she stepped back, looking over her shoulder as if her husband had already caught her there. Her whole body had stiffened, bracing. “I should go.”

“Run off if you need to,” Diego murmured, hating that she looked that way in his presence.

She took another step, paused. Her lips parted, pressed together, and parted again, making the sag that controlled half of her face even more pronounced. “Thank you for being kind to Connor.”

“I’d never hurt the boy,” he assured her.

Her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t believe him. When she started to turn away, he reached out, not sure what he was trying to do, but he knew that making her flinch wasn’t it.

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