“Seen enough, princess?” The giant’s voice resonated to her very marrow, and she nearly shivered with the desire to climb him like a tree. She barely registered that he spoke English with an American accent. She didn’t even take exception to the fact that he’d called her “princess.” That should hit a sore spot, but she wasn’t about to let it. Now that she was single, she needed to store this kind of thing up for her spank-bank.
But she knew it was probably better if she said something sooner or later. Before that drool started from the corner of her mouth and after memorizing the pattern of his chest hair. “Who are you?”
“Who the fuck are you?” He reared back a bit and seemed to pull air with him. That’s the only way she could explain following him into the foyer, pushing past his big body without spending too much time trying to cop a feel. Indeed, who the fuck was she, trying to cop a feel of an angry giant? It might be time to admit that she was beyond needing spank-bank material and right in the neighborhood of need-to-get-laid-right-now.
“Where’s Tia Lola?”
“You mean Señora Hernandez?”
“Do you ever answer questions without questions?”
“Only when I get my questions answered, princess.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Answer my questions.”
She’d had about enough of his bullshit, but she surmised that the best way to get her questions answered was to give him what he wanted. “Okay. No, I haven’t seen enough because I’ve been sleeping with the same guy for three years, and he doesn’t look nearly as good as you in boxer briefs. Or at least he didn’t before he dumped me.” It felt so good to say exactly what was on her mind. With Geoff, she’d always had to watch her words. She took a breath, and continued while he still looked taken aback. “I’m Carla Hernandez. Lola Hernandez is my father’s aunt. I’m here to bring her—something.” She felt like a drug dealer carrying around this much money, but it was impossible to transfer American money to Lola’s bank account in Cuba. She didn’t want to say money, because while the giant appeared to be benevolent and had certainly made himself at home here, she couldn’t be sure. “Now, who are you?”
“Jonah Kane.” Of course he had to have a name that sounded like he looked. He appeared to be wearing boulders under his skin. Of course his name would be hard, like rock. “I’m here working on a book, and I’m renting a room here.”
“You’re a writer?” she asked, surprised. “I know some writers have crazy rituals to make sure things get done, but leaving the U.S. just to get away from reliable Internet seems extreme.”
“I’m a photojournalist.”
That piqued her interest, but it seemed past due for him to put his pants on. For one thing, his body was going to give her a heatstroke-related seizure if she was exposed to it any longer. He was so hot it was starting to make her mad. For another thing, she could feel his judgmental glare and didn’t like the way he said princess—it was an insult disguised as an endearment, and she didn’t need that.
“Can you please go put some pants on?”
He leaned one hand on the bannister of the stairway leading to the bedrooms, with a sexy, cocky half-smile on his face. “Why? I thought you were getting a great show?”
Carla wasn’t going to rise to the bait of a jerk like that. She’d grown up with two of them—both her father and brother were a handful—so she just pointed upstairs. “Pants now, unbearable ego later.”
* * * *
Jonah stomped up the stairs, still cranky from his rude awakening. Mrs. Hernandez had told him her niece was coming for a visit. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the woman who’d showed up at the door.
He’d perked right up when she gave him a slow once over, worrying that he’d have an inconvenient hard-on, one that he couldn’t control, for the first time in years. She wasn’t his usual type. His last girlfriend—if you could call her that—had been a foreign service officer in Kenya. Shannon spoke multiple languages and could handle a bit of rough in the bedroom—hell, she’d loved a bit of rough. Ultimately, the only place they were compatible was in bed, but she was the kind of woman he’d end up with.
Carla Hernandez was a pretty little pixie sprite who reeked of privilege. He wasn’t a big shopper, but it didn’t take a genius to guess that her outfit probably cost more than all the furniture in his New York apartment. She showed up from the U.S. in an all-white little suit thingy—like the kind toddlers wore. If that didn’t say idiotic rich girl, he wasn’t sure what did.
If he’d started in on any of the things he wanted to try with her—pushed her up against the wall and shut up her throaty little cock tease of a voice with his mouth—he’d probably ruin her clothes and maybe crack a rib.
No, the freckled redhead was not his type, but she’d managed to get under his skin in about ten seconds flat, and he hated that. He’d negotiated his way out of getting kidnapped by a terrorist group, and he was having dirty sex fantasies about a woman who would balk at the first hint of a spanking. Maybe he wasn’t being fair, but his gut told him that Carla was trouble, that it would be best to stay away. That pert, upturned nose combined with the deep smoky voice might make her sexy as hell, but he didn’t have time for a regular girl, much less a princess like her. Make him put on pants. He should have dropped his boxer briefs just to see what she’d have done. He smiled at the idea of shocking her.
When he got back downstairs, she was sitting on one of the old, falling-apart chairs in the room that Lola insisted on serving her tea in every afternoon, even though Jonah preferred beer. But, every afternoon he was there. He sat his ass down anyway and drank tea from the chipped service Lola had inherited from her grandmother.
Carla looked fresh and unconcerned as she pressed the cuff of her shorts flat with her fingertip, as if she was ensuring they were still straight. Like a nervous tick. She’d said she was here to give her aunt something, but she hadn’t said what that something was. He’d grown fond of Lola, and he didn’t want anyone taking advantage of her, including her own family.
“What are you really doing here?” His voice was overly harsh, and she jumped. He was usually careful about how he used his voice and his size, which wasn’t necessarily an asset in his line of work. Not many subjects forgot that he was there when he took up so much space.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” She might not see it, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to let any avaricious relatives get at a woman who’d treated him like a son during the months he’d been in Havana. “But, if you must know, I’m here because Lola needs help updating this place.”
Jonah looked around. He could see that, but he still didn’t trust that Carla wasn’t scheming to get this place out from under Lola and ship her great aunt off to some retirement home/purgatory until the woman kicked it. Jonah didn’t trust women with perfectly pleated white shorts or prissy-ass attitudes.
He sat down on the chair opposite her and it creaked in protest. “Doesn’t seem like it needs much updating to me.”
Carla brushed a large strand of red hair off of her face and behind her shoulder, revealing a swath of milky, freckled skin that make him think of summer. Innocence. When he looked up at her face, her plush lips were twisted into a suppressed smile. She’d caught him checking her out. And now she’d be on some power trip about how he wanted her—which, of course, he didn’t.
“It does need updating if she wants to turn this place into a successful B&B once tourism travel completely opens up.”