Page 68 of The Crush
Monday, October 31, 1994
I am certain Iusedto be intimidating.
After all, notsolong ago I had frequently held my own in negotiations and interrogations. Stared down cartel members and bureaucrats alike. Gave warnings that were compelling enough for my adversaries to raise their hands and get on their knees.
Apparently not anymore.
“Would you just take it?” Isabel tells me, not backing down even the tiniest bit as she meets the challenge in my gaze, standing in the middle of the kitchen with one hand on her hip as I do the same.
“What is it?” I ask again, going so far as to take a step back.
“They’reclothes,” she says, holding out the bag and then smiling at me in a sugar sweet way that only makes me more suspicious.
“You saidcostume. You said, ‘Danny, here is yourcostume.’”
Which I had followed up with an immediate, “Absolutely not.”When is the last time I even dressed up? 1984? No, earlier than that…
“It’s Halloween. It’ll be fun.” Isabel looks up at me with those big, brown eyes. “Please?”
Damn it.She brightens as I snatch the bag, looking inside for less than a second before I close it in my fist and fold my arms across my chest.
“What is it?” I ask yet again, still trying to feel her out even though she’s already told me that she’snottelling. That I will know once I have it on. But I also know that by then, I’ll have already lost. “Is it something ridiculous?”
“Idon’t think so,” she says, clearly enjoying this. “Although ifyoufeel like what’s in there is ridiculous once you have it on, that’syourfault, not mine.”
My brow furrows in confusion. “My fault? How would it be—”
“They’reyourclothes, Danny,” she says, an exasperated laugh breaking free. “Well, and a couple things I borrowed from Tadeo. But they areyourclothes.”
I cautiously uncross my arms so I can look inside the bag again. “My red shirt?”
“See? You trust me?” she asks, taking a step closer with a soft smile and a sway in her hips. And if she really wants to do itthatway, I’m game.
“Hm, that depends.” I lean forward so that my face is mere inches from hers. “What areyouwearing?”
She comes a bit closer, smoothing her hands along my chest and down my stomach in a way that makes every thought I have in my head rush south. She brushes her lips against my cheek as she whispers, “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
I snort, admiring that she had been able to keep a straight face while she said that line. I don’t look away from her as I toss the bag up on the counter, using my now free hands to hold her waist. I skim over her curves with my fingertips, slipping my hands intothe back pockets of her jeans and pulling her firmly against me. “I think we both know I could get you to show me yours regardle—”
I laugh as she pinches my side and wriggles away, but my arms wrap tight around her middle and tug her right back against my chest. Now that she’s facing away from me, I bend and place my mouth along the column of her throat before murmuring new terms of surrender in her ear. “I’ll put on the costume, Isabel, as long as I get to take yours off.”
She nods, melting into me as I drag my hand along her side, across her stomach, up over her chest to rest at the base of her throat as I kiss her. When she lets out a small sigh, I answer with a groan, and she pushes back into me, fitting her body soft and warm against mine. Moving right where I need her.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
My other hand intentionally brushes against the underside of her breasts, the impact of the touch clear in her half-lidded gaze. “Let’s go back to bed.”
“It’s ten o’clock in the morning,” she points out, but her feet are still falling into step with mine as I start to guide her gently backward. “Wait, I can’t. I still have to get everything ready.”
I hum my understanding, brushing my nose against the shell of her ear and suppressing a grin. “I’ll get you ready.”
She laughs, but it’s breathy. Not putting up even the smallest fight while being effectively maneuvered out of the kitchen.
We’re almost into the hallway leading to the bedroom when there’s a single loudthudfrom the direction of the front room, and I barely have time to tense and get Isabel behind me before Gabe’s familiar voice rings through the house.
“Happy Halloween!” he calls, and I don’t even need to be able to see his expression through the screen door to know he’s grinning. “Would either of you be able to keep your hands to yourself for long enough to help me unload the truck?”
Fifty-Two
