Page 85 of The Challenger

He laughs, as anyone would who believes that a petite and voluptuous finance powerhouse could slay at a pool table. “I forgot to bring it up, but if she wants that intro to Dallas, let me know.”

Oh boy. I am not going to relay her thoughts on Dallas. I did a quick Google scour on him a while back, and he is definitely the king of the money hill, but also, per June, a rogue running ruthlessly amongst the LA babe scene. He is a stunner, for sure, if I was into the macho finance types. But I would not want to sit across a table from him while those eyes undressed me. There is no doubt he would get his way. Guys like Dallas always get their way.

“I think she’s okay for now. But I’ll remind her again.”

He cradles my head and then shifts his body so we can curl inward and face each other. Entire conversations pass between our eyes.

“I’m so relieved they got him," he finally says. "You must be too.”

“It feels strange,” I admit. “I suspected he knew my mother somehow.”

“But you’re okay with it? Not digging deeper?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but I would like to talk to him.”

He nudges his knee into mine. “Don’t you dare. There is no point in getting a restraining order if you plan to walk right up to him.”

“But you understand why I want to, right? The same reason why you went to see Earl.”

“The circumstances are completely different,” he counters. “And I gave myself time before I went back. You have to let things settle in here.” His palm presses against my forehead before the warmth of his hand moves to my heart. “And here.”

I could argue him into a corner on this issue, but he makes a valid point.

“Take some time,” he reiterates. “You will have your day with him in court and hear it all. Focus on getting back in sync with your parents and sort out the crap with your agent.”

Ah, yes. Good old Nathaniel. Still making life miserable for me. He and my lawyer square off again next week.

“I know,” I concede. “You’re right.”

His voice turns softer. “And I want us to spend more time with my parents. Last week was a good start.”

Compared to round one, the Delgado dinner last Sunday was a walk in the park. Gloria made an effort not to make me feel like a clown showing up at a birthday party with a sawed-off shotgun. Judging from the pointed glances between her and Chavez when we arrived, he laid down the law in advance. And throughout the night, he kept tabs to ensure she remained on the right side of it. Now that Carmen has come out, the other tightrope of tension in the house slackened, and dare I say, I enjoyed myself. The wine helped, as it always does. And I do like Rodrigo. We share a special bond, battling his son with varying degrees of success.

“My parents want to meet you as well,” I say. “And you have a rabid fan club at the hospital who would love a visit.”

Edgar was the one who encouraged me to take tennis lessons. He played for years with his fellow teachers from Santa Cruz high school. As it turns out, his day nurse, Maria Hernandez, loves tennis. Her husband is from Veracruz, the same city Rodrigo grew up in, and she told me during my first hospital visit that Chavez is a bona fide celebrity in Mexico. She treated me like one, too, practically curtseying.

“Let’s do a road trip,” Chavez says, perking up. “I have the time for now.”

“That sounds like a great idea. On the way back, can we swing through Fresno?”

His brow furrows. “What for?”

“I’d like to see your hometown,” I say. “The house you grew up in, the courts where you taught yourself how to play.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Nothing to see but some beat-up courts and a beat-up house, but if you want to go, we will.”

I weigh the tone of his comment and understand the hesitation. “We stay far away from Earl, okay? I never want to lay eyes on that man.”

Earl threatening him at gunpoint still makes me ill. If we ever cross paths, I can't be held responsible for what might happen.

Chavez kisses me softly. “I will do whatever makes you happy, all right?”

He traces a finger over my lips and follows the curve when I break into a smile. My finger traces his stubbled jawline, and his next sigh is deeper as I feel my way tenderly underneath the duvet.

“Flynn baby,” he murmurs. “I will always keep you safe. I promise.”

I slip my tongue into his waiting mouth, and he groans, two fingers sliding deep into my wet velvet. His skin is hot and smooth against mine as I arch into him and reach for his rear assets, twin handfuls of hard muscle. He nips at my lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, and works me until my body shivers with growing urgency.

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