I stand motionless, my spine straight, my shoulders back. My eyes are narrowed on him. I should smile, but I can’t. I’m too annoyed, frustrated, completelyincensedby my feelings for him.
All at once, I realize this is not just about what’s happened here tonight. It’s about falling helplessly past the point of no return…
His expression doesn’t soften as he approaches me, and maybe he expectsmeto soften, but I won’t. That chiseled jaw is a test, those dark lashes a taunt.
Finally he’s upon me, and beneath my hard shell, everything in me yearns for him. His spiced scent is so heady I get lost in it as his arm wraps possessively around my low back. He draws me close and plants a kiss on my mouth, so hot and bold I actually feel my knees slightly buckle.
When he pulls away, he whispers with a growl into my ear, “I’m angry with you, nena.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Cristiano
All I see is red.
I carry the tension in my shoulders and jaw as I look at the man at Isabel’s side and ask, “Who are you?”
“This is Logan,” she supplies curtly, before he has the chance to answer for himself. “He’s a journalist.”
The guy looks completely baffled by the fact that I’m here now, standing in front of him. He blinks fast and fidgets with his glasses. “Mr. Winthrop, it is an honor.” When I don’t respond, he quickly adds, “Er… or do you prefer Mr. Moreno Winthrop?” He looks helplessly between Isabel and me. “Are you two together?”
Isabel looks away without giving an answer, which stokes my jealousy even more. She didn’t tell him? Beyond that,was my kiss not obvious enough?
I’ve been a mess the last two days, running around like a headless chicken. All I wanted to do was ignore my responsibilitiesand go to Isabel, steal her from Aura, and hide away with her in my house. I could barely stand to be apart from her.
Then tonight, she shows up at this event and ignores me. She stood across the room flirting with this American journalist while I searched for her. I’ve had four hours of sleep in the last two nights. My head’s pounding, and I’ve had enough.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, cutting him off midsentence as he tries to explain the work he does with some travel magazine I’ve never heard of.
I lean in and whisper again into Isabel’s hair. “We’re leaving.”
Her lips part in surprise. Her delicate brows furrow. “What about your opening?”
“I’ve done everything I need to.” I’m already looking over her shoulder, locking eyes with my head of security across the room. I nod to let him know to bring my SUV around to the back entrance. The step-and-repeat is still a madhouse, and I intentionally shielded Isabel from it earlier by not having her walk with me. She’s incognito here on Ibiza, and if I’d walked that carpet with her and proudly showed her off the way I wanted to, there’s no telling how fast the vultures would have descended. Everyone would have discovered her last name, and I know she doesn’t want that.
My team was instructed to get her inside Sabor a Sol quickly and bring her to me, but no one alerted me when she arrived. I’ve been worried about her, only to discover she apparently snuck in and found herself in conversation with this guy.
“Does Simone need a ride?” I ask, my hand moving to capture hers. Impatiently I look to Simone, who up until now has stood perfectly quiet with round, worried eyes. “Do you want a ride?”
She shakes her head gently. “Felix is on his way.”
“Good.”
I tug, but Isabel doesn’t come easily. I don’t want to make a scene here. We’re already being too conspicuous.
“You couldaskme to come instead of yanking me after you,” Isabel hisses. The fire in her tone reminds me of the first night I walked her home from Aura. Her claws were out that night, and they’re bared tonight as well.
She doesn’t understand how little patience I have left. This grand opening has been a complete nightmare. First there were problems with a gas line, then last-minute bureaucratic issues with the ayuntamiento and our liquor license. Shipping delays with the last pieces of furniture, menu adjustments, decor, lighting—everything was down to the wire, and still, things aren’t completely smoothed over. They won’t be for a while. With Sabor a Sol in its infancy, I’ll have to watch it like a hawk to ensure any issues that arise don’t carry over into the dining room. Guests should never feel the heat from the kitchen.
Her comment aside, Isabel dutifully comes along with me until we’re outside. A security guard stands beside my vehicle, his posture snapping to attention when I slam open the side door.
“Márchate,” I tell him. “Go.”
Quickly he slides past me to disappear inside, and once we’re alone, Isabel wrenches her arm away from me. Her green eyes look venomous.
“What is it, Isabel?”
“I’m mad at you.”
