Page 22 of Knot Yours

The blinds are closed, so I have to get up and check the peephole to identify the visitor. Seeing Austin on the other side, fire ignites in my bones, and not the good kind. I release the locks and throw open the door, slamming my fists against his chest and shoving him backward. “Vete a la mierda, you bastard!”

Austin’s face registers shock, then shame, before he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight as I struggle. “I’m sorry, Marisol. Sorry I left. I was a fucking coward.”

His fake apology only adds fuel to the fire. I break free from his grip and shove him again. “Stop lying, you hijo de puta! You used me.”

“I would never do that to you. I swear. I got scared, and I left. This morning, I realized how stupidly I’d acted and came back.”

I nearly laugh at Austin’s convincing contrition. “Drop the act, Austin. I know the secret you’ve been hiding. My father hired an American to guard me so I wouldn’t be suspicious. Was screwing me a clincher to ensure I fell for my fake neighbor? To keep up the ruse and keep me pliant so I’d let you stick close to me?”

Austin shoves me inside and slams the door, leaning against the frame and breathing hard. I stomp to the sofa and flop onto the cushion. Not once does he deny the charge. “Oh, you’re good, Mr. Madden, and I’m an idiot. You had me eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Austin is on his knees before me in a blink, grasping my arms. The fury rolling off him would scare the most fearless warrior, but hurting me would guarantee his death by my father’s hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Olowa, but call me Mr. Madden again, and I’ll bend you over the couch and adjust that attitude.”

I jerk my arms free and gesture to the wall between our units. “I saw the empty apartment, Austin! You don’t live there.”

A grin tugs at his mouth, mocking me. Before I can slap the smug look off his face, Austin cups my cheeks and kisses me soundly. It’s only because I’m utterly stunned that I don’t fight him off.

Austin pulls away suddenly, leaving me with emotional whiplash. “You’re right. I don’t live next door. I own the place. That unit is between renters, and I’m slowly making repairs and upgrades. And I don’t know your father.”

He kisses me again, slower this time. My head spins so fast I don’t think I’ll ever catch up. I shove him away again, puzzling out the situation. “You own the duplex?”

Austin nods. “And several other rental properties around Norfolk and Virginia Beach.”

I turn my head, giving him a side-eyed glare. “You weren’t hired by my father to guard me?”

A shake this time. “No one hired me. Meeting you was the happiest stroke of luck I’ve had in years.”

“So last night—” I begin, but Austin interrupts, his grin impossibly wider.

“Last night, my Olowa, was only the beginning.”

My cheeks flame red, and I drop my head into my hands. “Mierda. I hit you.”

An amused chuckle rumbles through Austin’s chest. “It was more like a shove, and I deserved it.”

He pulls me off the sofa to straddle his lap. There, he fists my hair and claims my mouth. I’m equal parts embarrassed and turned on and about to begin clawing at his clothes when Austin retreats again. “Now that we have that settled, I want to know why you think your father would send someone to guard you. More than that, I want to know why you can imagine someone hired by your father would fuck you to oblivion.”

I drop my head, knowing this is where I fess up to my omissions and likely lose Austin in the process. He refuses to let me hide, tugging my chin up to meet his gaze.

I take a deep, steadying breath and answer, “My father fears for my safety.”

When I don’t continue right away, Austin nods, pensive. “As any decent father should.”

The snort is out of my mouth before I can stop it. Austin’s brows climb at my reaction, and he murmurs, “What aren’t you telling me, Marisol?”

“Telling you will change everything,” I whisper.

Austin places my hand against his chest. “Try me.”

My fingers curl in his shirt as I gather the courage to begin. “My father is a very wealthy and powerful man in Puerto Rico.”

“I have enough money,” Austin says with a disinterested shrug. “Your inheritance doesn’t interest me.”

“No, but this might. He’s one of four Copas in the infamous Otero family. My father is in the Puerto Rican mob.”

Closing my eyes, I brace myself to be pushed off Austin’s lap and for him to slam the door when he walks out.

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