Page 53 of Gabriel
“Of course not,” I lied.
He cocked a brow. “You’re not that good a liar.”
I leaned back in my seat and folded my arms. “I guess I’ll need more practice, then.”
“I like the way you move,” he said, suddenly changing subjects. “You walk like you own the world and everything in it. Confidence looks sexy on you.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me, Santos,” I said, tilting my head.
“It isn’t flattery if it’s true,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“Then thank you for the compliment. You’re sexy too.” I mentally slapped myself for flirting.
He laughed again—real this time, warm and a little dangerous. The kind of laugh that had me wondering what his mouth could do besides talk.
“If you weren’t so damn complicated, stubborn, and related to pathologically sick twins,” he said, swirling his wine, “we could’ve ruled a small country by now. We could be living like royalty. Be the kind of force nobody has ever seen.”
I raised a brow. “Just one country? You dream small for a man with such big… ambition.”
“You don’t believe in humility, do you?”
“I believe in theatrics. And right now, I’m giving you drama and tension… I mean, this is practically a Shakespearean play.”
He threw his head back and laughed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, heat suddenly plummeting to the spot between my thighs.
“Let’s toast to that,” he announced, and we clinked glasses. He took a long drink. So did I. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. “To theatrics and betrayal.”
I tensed, my instincts flaring. But no, he couldn’t possibly know of my plans. I was just being paranoid.
“So, what’s next for you?” he asked. “Another city or jungle you can get lost in? Or will you strictly stick to the seas?”
“By the way, have you shared the fact that I have a boat with anyone?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Are you asking me if I told your family?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes.”
“No, Amara, I didn’t. After all, that’s your business.”
I smiled, hiding my relief. “Yes, it is. Still, I appreciate your discretion.”
He leaned forward, interest flickering in his eyes. “Are you hiding things from your family?”
“No,” I said, lying shamelessly before I asked, “Are you?”
His smile twitched, then faded. “I’m protecting my family from certain things, so yes, you could say I’m hiding some things from them.”
“Like what?”
He didn’t answer, but the way he watched me—eyes sharp with knowing—only deepened my suspicion. It made me want to squirm in my seat, but I held myself rigid, refusing to give in to the urge.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I asked suddenly, my voice low and husky, heart pounding like a drum against my ribs.
The scrape of his chair was all the answer I needed. He tossed a stack of bills onto the table and held out his hand.
I hesitated—just a flicker—before I placed my fingers in his firm and steady hand.
“Are you okay?” he asked when I didn’t stand up immediately.
