Page 113 of Love or Tequila in Unexpected Places

“Good girl. Now get your sexy ass up. We’re having a shower.”

Twenty-Seven

ALLISON

Allison refused to be trapped in Angelo’s gaze—no matter how hot it made her feel.

His eyes held a fire that could melt her resolve if she let it, but she wasn’t about to lose herself in his intensity. The words he’d used to describe her body, the reverence in his voice, and the glimmer in his eyes were like a perfectly crafted spell, making her feel both vulnerable and empowered at the same time. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried a weight that made her skin tingle with awareness. For a brief moment, shestood frozen, her pulse quickening as if time itself had slowed down just for the two of them.

It was a rare feeling—this kind of attention, this kind of connection—but Allison knew better than to let it control her. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, her heart racing in response to the electric atmosphere between them. But she wasn’t going to let herself fall into the trap of his allure, no matter how tempting it was. She had always prided herself on being in control, on not giving in too easily. With a quick, sharp pinch to her arm, she broke herself out of the trance, shaking off the haze of Angelo’s intoxicating presence. She needed clarity, not confusion.

“Good girl. Now get your sexy ass up. We’re having a shower.”

“Yes, papí,” she teased, tossing the covers back with a dramatic flourish as she moved to get up.

Angelo froze, his expression flickering between confusion and amusement. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that. It was as if the nickname struck a memory he hadn’t dusted off in years. Allison felt a smug thrill, knowing she’d managed to throw him off balance with something as simple as a word.

She was officially plotting a mental list of other nicknames she might test out to see just how much she could make him squirm.

As she swung her legs out of the bed, she caught the low, gruff sound rumbling from his chest—a sound almost like a whine, though Angelo would likely never admit it. Satisfaction spread through her like warm honey. She didn’t even need to look back to know the kind of face he was making. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her skin like a physical touch.

She padded across the room, barefoot, eyes scanning for the bathroom. There were two doors side by side—one of life’s little dilemmas. Both identical, both closed.

Of course, he’d have both a walk-in closet and an ensuite bathroom.

“That’s either ‘Daddy’ or ‘Sir’ to you,” he called out, his voice playful but firm enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Allison’s blush betrayed her. Her mind flashed to the kinds of books she often devoured late at night, the ones with domineering men who said things like that. But she rolled her eyes and scoffed, masking the rush of heat that spread through her.

“Ha ha,” she mocked back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Very original.” But the blush? Oh, that stayed.

She confidently yanked open the closest door, only to be greeted with what felt like a shrine to high fashion. Racks upon racks of suits, crisp shirts, and shoes that probably cost more than her car.

“Oh for crying out loud,” she muttered, unable to stop herself. “If anyone would have a giant, designer-infested walk-in closet, it would be you.”

Angelo’s laugh echoed through the room, rich and unrestrained, complete with adorable little snorts. She grinned at the sound. It made her stomach flutter, and if she could bottle that laugh, she would.

For emergencies.

“Yes, shocking,” he teased. “A CEO with suits. How will the world recover?”

She shot him a mock glare as she closed the door to his miniature department store. “No man needs that many suits. CEO or not.” She pivoted to face him again, fully naked, fully aware, and for the first time in her life, fully confident.

The look he gave her in return could’ve set the room on fire. His gaze dragged over her body, slow and intense, as if he were committing every inch to memory. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. His silence was filled with desire, and his still-clothed, very obvious erection spoke volumes.

Allison’s smirk deepened. This was going to be fun.

She turned away again, making a show of it—deliberately slow, with just the right amount of sway in her hips. She let her eyes wander over the minimal decor, though, frankly, it was hard to focus on anything other than the heat she felt from Angelo’s stare.

At first, she’d thought this room was l just a guest room—too sterile, too impersonal. But now, with the memory of that closet and the man watching her like a predator, she realized that this room reflected a part of him he kept hidden. It was cold, devoid of any personal touch, like he was afraid to leave a mark anywhere.

But Angelo? The man she was getting to know? He was anything but cold. He was heat personified—raw, burning, dangerous in all the ways that made her want to dive in headfirst.

“And how, exactly, would you know how many suits a man needs?” Angelo’s voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the moment.

Allison didn’t look at him. She pushed open the bathroom door, the playful energy between them evaporating. “You’ve forgotten who my family is,” she muttered, her voice tight. Her hand gripped the door handle so hard her knuckles whitened, as if bracing herself against something worse than the conversation.

“Your family doesn’t matter to me, Allison,” he said, his voice steady, but with an edge of frustration. “Yes, your father is my rival in business. And your brothers are trying to be him, but that’s between them and me. Not us.”

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