Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
He didn’t have a regretful bone in his body with regard to that old man. But as far as she knew, his parents had died when he was an infant and the uncle who had raised him on the grove was the only family he’d had. None of that was true.
With an arm raised in the direction of the gazebo, he waited for her to move then followed behind.
Her jean-clad legs carried her out of the lemon grove, the subtle sway of her ass unintentionally seductive in her determination. Despite the confident way she carried herself, he suspected each step twisted her up with nerves. He wished he could carry her out of there and save them both a lot of potential pain.
They turned the corner, and the gazebo came into view. Seated at the table, Nico glanced up from his phone, his brows heavy over dark eyes and mouth turned downward in his usual relaxed expression.
She looked back at Matias, her brown eyes hesitant. Then she blinked, and her focus cleared, her features hardening.
He molded his face into something that resembled self-assurance. He was ninety-nine percent certain he knew how this would end. But it was that one-percent that sank his stomach with dread.
A SWARM OF BEES TOOK FLIGHT in Camila’s stomach as she stepped into the gazebo and met Nico’s demoralizing glare. He rarely looked into her eyes, as in not once since she arrived in Colombia. But sometimes she sensed him watching. Like it was his job to watch her without her noticing.
His elusive observance was so much better than this in-her-face staring.
“Matias’ little happy place suits you.” Nico’s gaze subtly skimmed over her body and returned to her eyes, his Colombian inflection falling flat. “You’re much more enticing than the fruit.”
Okay, that drained her blood straight to her feet. It was a joke, right? Nico might’ve kept tabs on her, but he’d never given her so much as a glimmer of interest.
His apathy was frightening, and he exuded it as if deliberately playing it to his advantage. Even now, his arms hung limply at his sides, his posture relaxed behind the wrought iron table, almost bored, as his gaze wandered away.
“She likes the grove.” Matias stepped around her and pulled out an empty chair, gesturing for her to sit.
She loved the grove. Loved it so much, in fact, she didn’t want Nico anywhere near it.
Sitting as directed, she entertained a silly thought about plucking one of the ripe fruits and traipsing the endless maze of paths through the trees. It was how she’d spent her childhood, letting the twisty arms of the branches guide her, never without a juicy snack in her hand.
“I should hope so, ese.” Nico focused on an errant crease in his black suit pants, smoothing it with a thumb. “You spent an embarrassing amount of time and money growing shit that can’t be injected, smoked, snorted, or smuggled.”
“That sounds dangerously close to complaining.” Matias lowered into the chair beside her, putting her between him and Nico. Folding his hands on the table, he leaned in, eyes on Nico. “You done?”
“I haven’t decided.” Nico shrugged.
Both men grinned, sharing a cryptic moment of silence. As their smiles faded, they continued to stare at one another. Communicating? Whatever it was hinted at a strange kind of simultaneous trust between them. Their postures remained at ease, their eyes bright. Until Nico shifted to her.
“So you wanted to meet with me to discuss the cartel’s affairs?” His tone dripped with censure, expression hardening in a blink, erasing all traces of humanity.
Just like that, he looked every bit the kingpin. Her insides churned.
He didn’t belong here in this magical place, where the trees fluttered with vitality, trilling with birds, and saturating the air with the quiet, aphrodisiac sweetness of orange blossoms. Matias had created a miniature version of her beloved sanctuary, knitting her memories into the soil and coaxing them to life. The resurrected ambiance filled her with a sense of innocence, an unexpected warmth of heart that made her want to turn to him with openness and affection.
And hope.
He could tell her a million times he wanted her, needed her, that her disappearance had gutted him, whatever. It was just words. But this…this nostalgic place was infinitely more moving. It was a proclamation that couldn’t be cheated or faked.
The maturity of the trees alone proved that a decade had been dedicated to growing it, to nurturing something much too wistful for a cartel compound. Sure, he hired out the labor, but his touch was in the tiniest details, such as the planting patterns, the types of fruiting trees, the yellow twine her papá had used to support the saplings, and the unusual way the secondary limbs were pruned—exactly how Venomous Lemonous had taught them.
No one else could’ve replicated her memories with such painstaking and sentimental precision. She knew without a doubt Matias had been here since the plants germinated and participated in every step of their life cycle.