Reckless Kiss: A forbidden, billionaire romance (stand-alone) Page 2

  We never had time to do anything about it back then. I left for Phillips Academy, an exclusive all-boys boarding school on the East Coast, and she stayed here. For four years, our relationship existed in emails and texts, sometimes the occasional handwritten letter. Until the summers, when I’d organize my life around finding her.

  I’d “accidentally” bump into her at the park, at the fair, at the baseball field. I’d slide up beside her, and thread my fingers with hers briefly. I’d make her laugh and steal kisses, but she never let it go farther… until the summer after we graduated high school, right before I left for college. It was the greatest night of my life, and the worst, as it turned our time apart into torture. Nights lying in bed dreaming of her beautiful body, her soft sighs…

  Reaching across the counter, I lace our fingers. “Can you take a break?”

  “I wish. Staci called in sick, the new girl never showed up… We’re completely short-handed.” Her eyes move to the small line forming behind me. “Do you want coffee?”

  I’m still holding her hand, sliding my thumb along her soft skin. I’ve missed her so much. Our eyes hold, and her cheeks flush as if she can read my thoughts.

  She smiles, tilting her head to the side. “You’re holding up the line.”

  Tearing my eyes from her gorgeous face, I scan the menu on the wall behind her. “How about… a tall Frida Latte and dip your little finger in it.”

  She rolls her eyes, and I wait as she quickly starts my order then helps the next person in line. I watch her move, skimming my eyes down her back, over her cute little ass and down her long legs.

  When she hands me my coffee, our fingers touch, and she smiles up at me. “Are you working today?”

  “Lourdes asked me to stop by New Hope.” I provide free financial advice to displaced women at a shelter near Garland. Angel’s best friend Lourdes is the administrator there.

  Her smile reappears. “I have an art class at four, but I can meet you there before.”

  “It’s a date.”

  She’s gone just as fast, rushing to the next customer in line. I back toward the door, taking one last look at her pretty face before stepping into the heat.

  “Cater-waiter is good. The pay’s decent and you’ll get work references.” The young mother across the table from me bounces her toddler boy on her lap, watching me with worried eyes.

  Her dark hair is slicked back in a tight bun with kiss curls above each of her temples. “I need something with better hours.”

  “You don’t have credit card debt, which is great.”

  “I don’t have a credit card.” She just looks at me.

  “Right.” I return to her spreadsheet. “Can you put a little into savings each month? Maybe five percent of your paycheck?”

  “Five percent!” Her eyes are round, and you’d think I’d suggested five million.

  I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “It doesn’t have to be five percent. Even five dollars will build over time. Think of it like running a marathon—”

  “I can barely cover my bills. I have to feed Chuy.” The little boy squirms in her lap.

  “Right.” I tap my stylus a few times on the screen of my iPad Pro. “You might qualify for a grant…”

  “No.” Her chin drops.

  She doesn’t say more, and I drop it. The women here are either running from bad situations or hiding from them, and as much as I want to help, it’s not my business to push.

  Still, every time I come here I wish I could do more. It’s frustrating, but it’s a start. I’m giving them the tools they need to have financial security one day. To stand on their own.

  I hope.

  Angel enters the cafeteria and warmth fills my stomach. She goes to Lourdes, who is bouncing a baby on her hip. The sunlight through the windows creates a halo around her head, and when she takes the fat infant from her best friend, I imagine her holding our baby. It’s a thought I like very much.

  The woman across from me breaks, her eyes filling with tears, snapping me out of my daydream. “I’ll end up a maid like my mamma.”

  “Juliana…” I reach out to touch her arm lightly. “Is it okay if I call you Juliana?”

  Her brow furrows, and she seems confused. “It’s my name.”

  The little boy in her lap arches his back and pushes. Juliana puts him on his feet, and he toddles off to where two other little boys are playing on the floor with a truck.

  “You can do this.” Swiping several times, I head over to the government aid section of our website. Then I remember… “Could you start working tomorrow?”

  Her thin brows furrow. “Maybe?”

  “I just heard about an opening at a coffee shop nearby, La Frida Java. If you’re interested?”

  The tension in her brow eases a notch. “A coffee shop?”

  “A… friend of mine works there. I can ask her.” I hate calling Angel my friend.

  She says it doesn’t matter if we’re a secret. It doesn’t change our feelings. But it matters to me, and I’m back to set the record straight.

  “I’ll call Lourdes once I know for sure.”

  I slide my tablet into the leather case, and Juliana stands quickly, reaching out to shake my hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  “It’s Deacon.” I shake her slim hand. “We’re going to make this happen. Okay?”

  She nods, wiping roughly at her eyes before turning to chase after her son. Putting my things in my black messenger bag, I start for where my angel is with her best friend.

  “Hey, handsome.” Lourdes steps into a hug, pecking a friendly kiss on my cheek. “Did you put that big brain to work for Juliana?”

  “Tried to.” I pat her back. “She wants to be a florist, but she really needs a steady job.”

  “They all do.” Lourdes bounces the fat baby on her hip, and Angel slides up beside me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

  My chest relaxes with her in my arms. “She’ll get there. I believe in her.”

  “Because you’re a rich white boy.” Lourdes slants her eyes at me. “Of course you do.”

  I hold up a hand. “Privilege, I know. But she’s made good decisions—”

  “Financially.” Lourdes is blunt, but she’s cool. As far as I know, she’s the only person in Angel’s life who knows we’re together. “Anyway, thanks for helping.”

  “Glad to do it.” I lower my nose to the top of Angel’s head, inhaling the familiar scent of jasmine. I’ve missed her so much.

  She lifts her chin to kiss my lips. “Why are you so good?”

  “I’m not so good.” Our eyes meet, and heat filters between us. I want to take her back to my apartment and make up for lost time.

  “Jeez-um… Can you two give it a rest?” Lourdes lifts the baby from her hip. “Here, Romeo, try some reality on for size.”

  She passes the baby boy to me, and I hold him up a second before bringing him to my chest. “Hey, big fella. He’s a bruiser.”

  Angel is beside me, tracing her finger along his arm rolls. “He’s adorable—oh!”

  We all jump back when Bruiser wobbles and then barfs all over me.

  I look down at the white stream running down my Armani. “That’s gonna stain.”

  “Tito!” A young woman rushes up to me, taking the baby. “I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s her fault.” I point at Lourdes. “She shook him up.”

  “Come with me.” Lourdes catches my arm not even hiding her laughter. “I’ve got a damp cloth in the kitchen.”

  “Oh no.” Angel stiffens and abruptly walks away from us.

  “Angel?”

  She doesn’t reply, but instead goes straight to a man I don’t recognize. He’s about my height with dark hair and eyes. He looks a few years older than us, and he’s standing beside Juliana, looking down at her with a stern expression.

  I start to follow when Lourdes grabs my arm. “Hold up, Chief. Don’t go over there.”

  My eyes are on Angel, and when the man sees her,
his scowl softens just a bit. He pulls her into a long hug, closing his eyes.

  “Who is that guy?”

  “That guy is Roberto Treviño, also known as Beto Treviño.” Lourdes says his name with a deep exhale. “Also known as Carmie’s older brother.”

  “Brother…” I study his face.

  Now I see the family resemblance, but where Angel is sweet and light, this guy is dark and angry. He surveys the facility from under a lowered brow, even as he smiles at his sister.

  “Is something wrong with him?”

  “Like what?” Lourdes pulls me into the kitchen.

  “He seems pissed.”

  She glances over her shoulder once more as the swinging door closes. “That’s just his face.”

  “Well, good. I can go and introduce myself—”

  She grabs my arm again. “Give Carmie a minute. Trust me on this one, okay?” I don’t like it, but she reaches for my coat. “You’re a big mess. Give this to me.”

  I shrug out of my blazer and hand it over. She dabs it with a damp cloth. “I heard he was moving back from Mexico. Looks like today’s the day.”

  Leaning to the side, I watch as he speaks to Angel. Her hands twist and she pushes her hair back. She drops her chin and nods, and I can see she’s nervous around him. I don’t like it.

  “It’s not coming out.” She shakes her head, wrapping it in a loose bundle. “I’ll have it dry cleaned.”

  “No way.” I slide the garment out of her hands. “I’ll take care of it. You guys are on a shoestring budget as it is.” My phone starts buzzing, and when I see the face, I frown. “I need to take this.”

  “You should go. I’ll tell Carmie you said goodbye.”

  “I want to talk to her. I’ll just be a second.”

  “Deacon.” She fixes brown eyes on mine. “I’ll tell her you said goodbye.”

  Angel’s on the other side of the door, standing at her brother’s side, and my jaw tenses. I want to go out there and introduce myself, but Lourdes guides me to the door.

  “Just give her some time, okay? You’re one of the good guys.”

  Possession and frustration war in my chest, familiar feelings I’ve struggled with growing stronger through the years. When we were young and separated so much, I could understand. Not anymore.

  “I’ll call her later.”

  “You should probably let her call you.”

  I take one last look at my angel before pushing out the door.

  2

  Angel

  My arms are around Deacon’s waist, and I’m humming with the thrill of him being here at last. Tall and strong, he smiles, and I watch the muscle in his square jaw move as he banters with Lourdes.

  It’s been a month since we were together, and I want to kiss him. I want to bury my face in his neck and inhale his clean scent of citrus and soap. I want him to lift me off my feet and take me away from this world like only he can do.

  Then the baby barfs all over him.

  Then my brother appears.

  It’s like a bucket of ice water right in my face. Beto’s looking around the room, and I say a silent prayer as I step away from the group, going to meet him, hoping to avoid any questions.

  When I was little, Mamá would say I had intuition. She would say I could sense things before they happened.

  She also said family was the most important thing. She would say we had to love each other, have each other’s’ backs, but after she died and I came here to live with them, I didn’t even know them.

  My brother was an angry mystery. When I was a little girl, before Mamá took me to Mexico, I remember him carrying me on his hip. I remember him smiling, and twirling my curls around his fingers. I remember him sweet.

  Then I came here and he never smiled. He also didn’t stay.

  I arrived, and a week later he left. I became a guest in my cousin’s home. She treated me like family, but I was very aware I was an extra mouth to feed, an extra person to clothe, a potential burden in her life…

  I did my best to help with the chores, care for her two daughters, do as I was told, stay out of trouble.

  “My little sister.” Beto pulls me into a hug, and I’m surrounded by leather and tobacco.

  My brother takes after my dad—darkly handsome, with straight black hair that curls around his ears. His eyes are so brown, you can’t see the pupils, and his white teeth are straight behind full lips. His body is lean and hard, and he hugs me roughly, almost painfully. “How long has it been?”

  “A long time.” I smile up at him, hoping he doesn’t see the fear in my eyes.

  I had hoped his return would mean we could get to know each other again. I had hoped we might be close, like we were all those years ago when I was a little girl.

  Now I’m not so sure. Now my intuition is twisting my stomach, and Beto returning to Plano the same day as Deacon feels like a bad omen.

  He nods to where Lourdes is hustling Deacon out the door. “What’s up with the suit?”

  “A local businessman.” I step between my brother and my friends. “Lourdes invites them to advise the residents on stuff.”

  His brow lowers. “Why?”

  “What do you mean why?” I force a laugh.

  “We don’t need his kind here.”

  “His kind?”

  “Ivy league assholes. Easing their consciences handing out advice that only works if you’re white and privileged.”

  My stomach is sick at this response, my voice quiet. Bad omen… “I know he means well. He does it for free.”

  He studies me a little too long before easing up. “Nothing is free, mija. Somebody always pays.”

  I don’t have time to argue before Lourdes rushes up to us.

  “Beto!” She walks straight into a hug. “When did you get in town?”

  “How you doing, Lor?” He gives her a one-armed hug.

  “Why are you at the women’s shelter?”

  “I came to get Carmie.”

  “That’s not weird at all, is it Carm?” She makes a face at me and laughs.

  My best friend’s superpower is diffusing tense situations. It’s what makes her perfect for her job here.

  “Pot-stirrer.” He gives her shoulder a shove. “I’m taking care of Carmie now.”

  He smiles at me proudly, and dread filters through my stomach.

  “As a big brother should.” My bestie smiles, but she can sense my shift in mood. “So you’re back to stay?”

  “I’m back to make things right.”

  What the hell does that mean?

  A strong hand closes over my shoulder. “You ready?”

  “Sure… I have to be at my studio class at four—”

  “Then we’d better get moving.” He starts for the door, speaking under his breath. “I don’t like you hanging out in this place.”

  “I visit the girls and help Lourdes.”

  He doesn’t respond, and I don’t know if he’s too far to hear me or if he doesn’t care.

  Whatever. I turn to Lourdes. “Valeria’s killing the fatted calf for his homecoming meal. You should come for dinner.”

  “I’ll try.” She hugs me, kissing my cheek. “I’ve got to finish up some paperwork, so I might be late.”

  Leaning closer, I lower my voice. “What did Deacon say?”

  Her worried eyes flicker over my shoulder. “He’s going to call you later.”

  Nodding, I turn my phone to silent. “I’ll text him.”

  “You’re going to have to come clean about him. Now that Beto’s back, it’s not going to be so easy to hide.”

  “I will… I will.” Timing is everything.

  She’s held my hand since the day I arrived in Plano, a sad, scared little orphan. She’s always been by my side, protecting me, taking up for me—not that anybody who knew him would mess with Roberto Treviño’s sister.

  “I’m here if you need me.” Lourdes squeezes my hand, and I give her one last hug.

  My phone buzzes a few tim
es on the way to the studio, but I don’t take it out of my pocket. Leaning my head against the window, I close my eyes and let the morning wash over me.

  After my shift at La Frida Java, I raced to New Hope, desperate to see Deacon, touch him, imagining what it will be to have him here in the city all the time, just a phone call or text away.

  It makes me so happy.

  Deacon is a decadent luxury I’ve kept close to my heart, a precious secret. My one true love.

  When we were young, I’d be on edge every summer until I saw him again. My heart would beat so fast, and my chest would ache. I was sure he’d come to me and say it was over—or perhaps he wouldn’t come at all. He’d simply find some pretty rich girl, some debutante from his world and realize spending his time with a waif on the south side of town was beneath him.

  Every year he proved me wrong.

  He’d show up at the park or at baseball games or at the fair. He’d buy me snowballs and trace his finger along my cheek, twirling my crazy curls, squeezing my heart with his smiles.

  I’d see him riding his motorcycle, caramel hair moving in the breeze. A crooked grin, a deep dimple in his cheek. He was a cocky rich boy, and when he stopped beside me, my body pulled to his like a magnet.

  My hands wrapped around his waist, my cheek pressed to his shoulder, my thighs sliding against his with only thin fabric separating our bodies.

  Being with him was deep blue and shining cerulean, it was a blanket of shimmering stars curling in the night sky. It was my mother’s portraits of moonshine tipping the edges of the mountains.

  Mamá filled me with dreams of a life she hoped I would live. She made me believe I could become anything I wanted, and Deacon swept in like a promise those dreams would come true. He made me laugh, he made me swoon.

  He kissed me, and my stomach flew like diving off the tallest cliff into a cloud of wonder and deliciousness. His lips were soft, his taste so sweet. Deacon between my thighs became a drug I couldn’t live without, an addiction I would guard with my life.

  With Valeria’s original warning in my ear, the promise she forced me to make, I decided it was better to ask forgiveness than permission, and I did my dead-level best never, never to get caught.