housekeeper met her gaze with raised brows. “Yes, señorita?”
“What about Rio?” Cassie asked. “Does he also…entertain…these women?”
“No.” Marta smiled, soft and sincere. “Never. Rio is a good man.”
Cassie exited the kitchen with more information but less emotional stability. She might have confirmation that the women had been here for Saul, not Rio, but that didn’t explain what had happened between Cassie and Rio last night. In fact, it only made his reaction to their intimacy more cryptic.
Cassie could think of only two reasons he would turn her off so quickly when he’d seemed to be enjoying their kiss as much as she’d been. She’d felt the evidence of that interest pressing against her belly last night. So if he wasn’t involved with the prostitutes Saul hired, he must have been telling the truth—his loyalties lay with Saul.
Which kept him firmly in the enemy camp.
* * * * *
“Eight a.m. isn’t too early for a beer, right, Manuel?” Rio sat at a tall table in Amigos Cantina two blocks from Cassie’s clinic, staring into the golden liquid the barkeep had just set in front of him. The stale scent of beer and tobacco hovered in the air, and Rio had a headache the size of a fist throbbing at the center of his brain.
“For you or for me, amigo?” Manuel’s dark face crinkled with his grin. “For you, yes. This is very early. For me? No. Why you think I open at this hour?”
“Good point.”
Rio closed his eyes and took several long swallows of the bitter ale. The cold felt good going down his throat. The scent of the alcohol gave him hope of smoothing the edge leftover from last night. But he was skeptical. That edge was still razor sharp.
Sighing, he set the drink back on the scarred wood surface. “Think I need a shot to go with this.”
“Tequila?”
“What else?”
“Be right back.”
The bubbles on Rio’s beer reminded him of the surf on the sand last night. Of Cassie’s pretty painted toes carving designs in the sand at the water’s edge while she’d talked on the phone.
Her phone.
He pulled out his BlackBerry, punched into his apps, and brought up the wiretap software. But according to the records, Cassie hadn’t made or received any calls since he’d placed the bug in her cell after he’d cleaned out the sand.
Since he hadn’t slept at all—what red-blooded man could after the lustiest make-out session of the decade that didn’t end in world-rocking sex?—he knew she’d gone for a run on the beach at four a.m., left the house at five a.m., and driven straight to the clinic.
He put his phone away and watched Manuel center the shot over the beer and let go. The liquid splashed and fizzed.
Manuel gave Rio a solid slap on the shoulder. “Enjoy, amigo. You look like you need it.”
The barkeep moved on with morning chores. Instead of downing the alcohol, Rio watched the rich tequila mix with the lighter, golden beer. That was the color of Cassie’s eyes—that dark amber shade of tequila. And didn’t he make a pathetic picture, sitting at a bar before he’d even eaten breakfast, drinking away last night’s sexy memories and daydreaming about the color of her eyes?
Holy. Shit.
He picked up the glass and took a long swallow. Hooyah, that tequila did the trick. Nice burn down the throat, nice kick in the gut. That ought to get his head out of his pants and back in line. The stakes were way the hell too high to get his brain twisted up in a woman.
Tomás entered through the back door and straddled the opposite stool. Elbows on the table, his attention flicked to the beer in front of Rio and held a second too long. Then he glanced around the open room and took in the few drunks sucking down their morning beer before returning his attention to Rio.
Rio pushed the beer toward the middle of the table and assessed Tomás’s shadowed eyes and stiff jaw. The man was a perfectionist. One of the best agents within Immigration and Customs
“What about Rio?” Cassie asked. “Does he also…entertain…these women?”
“No.” Marta smiled, soft and sincere. “Never. Rio is a good man.”
Cassie exited the kitchen with more information but less emotional stability. She might have confirmation that the women had been here for Saul, not Rio, but that didn’t explain what had happened between Cassie and Rio last night. In fact, it only made his reaction to their intimacy more cryptic.
Cassie could think of only two reasons he would turn her off so quickly when he’d seemed to be enjoying their kiss as much as she’d been. She’d felt the evidence of that interest pressing against her belly last night. So if he wasn’t involved with the prostitutes Saul hired, he must have been telling the truth—his loyalties lay with Saul.
Which kept him firmly in the enemy camp.
* * * * *
“Eight a.m. isn’t too early for a beer, right, Manuel?” Rio sat at a tall table in Amigos Cantina two blocks from Cassie’s clinic, staring into the golden liquid the barkeep had just set in front of him. The stale scent of beer and tobacco hovered in the air, and Rio had a headache the size of a fist throbbing at the center of his brain.
“For you or for me, amigo?” Manuel’s dark face crinkled with his grin. “For you, yes. This is very early. For me? No. Why you think I open at this hour?”
“Good point.”
Rio closed his eyes and took several long swallows of the bitter ale. The cold felt good going down his throat. The scent of the alcohol gave him hope of smoothing the edge leftover from last night. But he was skeptical. That edge was still razor sharp.
Sighing, he set the drink back on the scarred wood surface. “Think I need a shot to go with this.”
“Tequila?”
“What else?”
“Be right back.”
The bubbles on Rio’s beer reminded him of the surf on the sand last night. Of Cassie’s pretty painted toes carving designs in the sand at the water’s edge while she’d talked on the phone.
Her phone.
He pulled out his BlackBerry, punched into his apps, and brought up the wiretap software. But according to the records, Cassie hadn’t made or received any calls since he’d placed the bug in her cell after he’d cleaned out the sand.
Since he hadn’t slept at all—what red-blooded man could after the lustiest make-out session of the decade that didn’t end in world-rocking sex?—he knew she’d gone for a run on the beach at four a.m., left the house at five a.m., and driven straight to the clinic.
He put his phone away and watched Manuel center the shot over the beer and let go. The liquid splashed and fizzed.
Manuel gave Rio a solid slap on the shoulder. “Enjoy, amigo. You look like you need it.”
The barkeep moved on with morning chores. Instead of downing the alcohol, Rio watched the rich tequila mix with the lighter, golden beer. That was the color of Cassie’s eyes—that dark amber shade of tequila. And didn’t he make a pathetic picture, sitting at a bar before he’d even eaten breakfast, drinking away last night’s sexy memories and daydreaming about the color of her eyes?
Holy. Shit.
He picked up the glass and took a long swallow. Hooyah, that tequila did the trick. Nice burn down the throat, nice kick in the gut. That ought to get his head out of his pants and back in line. The stakes were way the hell too high to get his brain twisted up in a woman.
Tomás entered through the back door and straddled the opposite stool. Elbows on the table, his attention flicked to the beer in front of Rio and held a second too long. Then he glanced around the open room and took in the few drunks sucking down their morning beer before returning his attention to Rio.
Rio pushed the beer toward the middle of the table and assessed Tomás’s shadowed eyes and stiff jaw. The man was a perfectionist. One of the best agents within Immigration and Customs
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