“I know what you meant,querida.” His gaze locked with mine and stayed there for a beat, taking the tension up another notch. “Watching a woman like you blush is the best entertainment I’ve had in a while.”
My cheeks flamed so hot I worried they might catch fire, but I refused to hide. If I planned on spending all my time with Cruz, I needed to learn how to deal with my body’s responses to him. There were a lot of responses. “A woman like me? Do I even want to know what that means?”
He let out an amused breath. “I just like seeing the softer side of a strong woman.Eres la cosa más dulce.”
“There you go again with those pretty words I can’t understand. You're lucky I can't Google that.” I stood to collect some pillows and blankets from the bedroom. Partly because the temperature would be dropping soon, and also to give myself a few minutes to get it together. “I'm going to go rustle up some bedding to keep us warm tonight.”
"All right—and Liv?" Cruz looked up at me from his position on the couch. A corner of his mouth lifted. “I called you sweet, that’s all.”
His directness had a frisson of excitement moving through me. There were already too many aspects of his personality that appealed to me, and we were only two days in.
Since I could feel my cheeks going redagain, I thanked him and took off for the safety of the hallway, focusing on my mission to find blankets so I wouldn’t get too caught up in thoughts of sleeping beside him.
~ * ~
Cruz and I had been snacking throughout the day. Whenever one of us stumbled onto packaged food that was still good—crackers, chips, salted cashews—we'd stop and share it with the other. When it came time for dinner, I found an unopened box of Sultana Bran in the back of the pantry. Not our preferred option when we could have been eating heated food sachets instead, but we'd reached the point now where getting our hands on any edible food was a win.
With the powdered milk in my pack and some of the water from our bottles, we were able to make ourselves cereal for dinner. I tried not to think about the meals those men would have been enjoying after stealing our stash.
We sat at the dining table with all the blinds closed, and Cruz used the portable gas lighter to set up a candle he’d found in the kitchen junk drawer. With the flickering light between us and bowls of food to fill our stomachs, it was a decent end to a day that hadn't gone anywhere near as well as planned.
When we were both done eating, I carried our bowls to the sink and stacked them neatly rather than washing them. The original occupants wouldn’t be coming back, and there was no need to treat the house like an Airbnb, even if it looked like one.
Cruz cupped his hand around the candle's flame and headed back into the lounge room to set it on the coffee table. We resumed our previous positions on the couch, only this time there were blankets to keep us warm and pillows for later when it was time to sleep. We'd left our backpacks close by, our weapons at our feet—and both of us remained fully dressed, shoes on, in case we needed to make a quick exit.
“Is this how you’ve been living the whole time?” I asked. “On edge and waiting for something to happen?” The candlelight threw dancing shadows across his face, making his features appear dark and dangerous. I had no doubt he could handle anything the world flung at him, but I didn't like to picture him sitting alone throughout the night wearing his clothes, listening for the smallest sound that might cause him to fight or run.
"Only since my brother died. We took turns keeping watch. After that, it all fell on me."
I wanted to ask about his brother, but the expression on his face yesterday told me it was a no-go zone. “Did you have a wife or girlfriend?" I asked. "Kids?”
"No." Cruz stared at the candle as he answered. “Work always came first for me, so I would have made a shitty partner. When it all went down… after everyone was gone…" He gave me a wry smile. "My job didn’t seem so important anymore.”
The pandemic had been an eye-opener for so many different reasons. “Same for me, but not because I was too focused on work. I just had terrible luck with dating.”
He relaxed deeper into the couch and sent me a sideways look. “How? In what way?”
I blew out a laugh. “In all the ways. I went on so many first dates that never progressed to second ones that I came to the conclusion I just wasn't cut out for romance.”
The way he looked at me—like he couldn’t believe for a second that someone like me would have trouble dating—made me feel supported and worthy. He had my back without question, even when I was sharing pieces of my past with him that no longer mattered. “What were the reasons for those second dates not happening?”
I smiled. "I have so much material I could write a book. It's probably best not to get me started.”
“Come on, Liv,” he said in a seductive, inviting tone. "Tell me some stories."
Oh, God. That voice. Deep and smoky with just a hint of rasp. I had a suspicion he could get me to do anything he wanted if he decided to use his power for evil rather than good. He tempted me to share, and with no television or phones to distract us, it wasn’t like we had anything else to do. I released a long breath and prepared to entertain an attractive, appealing man with my humiliating rejections. "Don't complain when you get secondhand embarrassment," I warned.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Wouldn't dream of it."
I sighed in defeat and launched into my first experience. "Well… I was single for over a year when a woman from work suggested I try dating apps. I hated the idea of swiping and judging and having the same done to me—but I gave in and arranged to meet a man for dinner. We were waiting for our meals to arrive, and he excused himself to go to the bathroom." I stared at my hands while I shared the next part. "I sat alone for ten minutes until I got a text saying I wasn’t his type and he’d taken off home.”
"What a weasel."
I looked up to find Cruz staring at me, his expression neutral. I gave him a quick smile, appreciating the backup. "Another man talked about his mother for the entire date, to the point where I might have been jealous if I'd been his girlfriend.”
“Bet he still lived with her.”
“Probably." I shifted to a more comfortable position, feeling better about sharing my stories. "There was a guy who asked if he could cut off a piece of my hair to keep in his wallet.Just a small piece, he said, as if that would make him seem like less of a serial killer. Another one ordered up big then conveniently forgot he didn’t have any money until payday, and—oh!” I said, encouraging a laugh from Cruz. “Oneguy seemed perfect on the surface, seriously perfect, but my friend looked him up on Facebook, and she found out he was married with three kids." I tried to smile at the ridiculousness of it all, but the memories were still too frustrating.
