Chapter 6: What She Wanted

"A Singapore client," Joaquin said. "I broker freight for a firm over there on the side."

He said it too smoothly, and I knew it.

"At two in the morning, in Mandarin."

"It's lunchtime there."

"Close Rotterdam," I said. "You said it like you owned it."

He leaned his hip against the rail and crossed his arms.

"Do you want me to lie to you, Daphne?"

"No."

"Then ask me tomorrow."

I should have pushed.

I stood on the balcony in my silk nightshirt with the heat rising off the lawn.

I looked at the scar through his eyebrow and the pulse in his throat.

My uncle was hunting him.

My company was balanced on the fact of him.

And all I could think about was that he had said I was worth standing up for.

"Tomorrow," I said.

"Tomorrow."

"I have one more question."

"Go on."

"The guest room." I stepped toward him. "Do you want to be in it?"

His breath went out of him, slow.

"No," Joaquin said.

I kissed him.

I did not do it like the courthouse, with a judge watching.

I put both hands in his hair and pulled his mouth down to mine.

He made a rough sound against my lips and caught me around the waist.

He lifted me against him as if I weighed nothing.

My feet left the floor.

"Daphne," he said into my mouth. "Say it plain."

"Bed," I said. "Mine. Now."

He carried me through the glass doors and down the hall, and I bit his neck on the way, and he swore in Spanish.

My bedroom was dark, with the curtains open and the city lights on the ceiling.

I was twenty-nine, he was thirty-one, and I had never wanted anyone like this.

He put me on the edge of the bed and stood over me.

I pulled his undershirt up over his head.

His chest was broad and scarred in places, and when I put my mouth on the hard muscle over his heart, he shuddered.

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