His Son. Her Secret.

Chapter 26

Cold air tingled against his skin like a premonition that something bad was about to happen. Santiago stood still. The house was quiet and as cold as the Arctic Circle.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he realized he only had on his pajama bottoms, which hung low on his hips. His chest and feet were bare, explaining the freezing cold slipping into his bones.

Again, something at the back of his mind whispered that something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He knew that his hired security had to be moving around the property, but he couldn’t hear them or see their shadows through the French doors of his study.

Santiago flexed his fingers, only then realizing he was holding his gun. Why was he holding his gun? So many questions, but his brain couldn’t seem to process any answers at the moment. Strange.

The security lights outside spilled pale silver light through the tall glass, cutting long shadows across the polished floors. Every instinct in his body tightened.

Then he just knew someone was inside his house. Again? His jaw clenched hard. Not this time, he vowed silently.

His pulse racing, Santiago turned away from the French doors and immediately saw the dark figure slip past the shelves like they had the other night. They were fast, yet they didn’t seem to be running out of the study and away from him.

“Stop!”

The intruder spun, and their gazes clashed. A sense of deja vu came over him as he took in the black clothes, gloves, and ski mask. Rage exploded through Santiago so violently that it nearly drowned out all thought. The memory of his son missing for days crashed into him all over again.

“You,” he snarled, gun raised.

Without hesitation, the intruder darted toward the French doors. The very ones he stood in front of. But Santiago didn’t stop to think how weird it was that the intruder was coming towards him. He lunged, and they slammed hard into the desk together.

Papers scattered everywhere. The intruder twisted sharply, surprisingly strong despite the smaller frame. Santiago caught their wrist before they could shove him away completely.

For a split second, their bodies pressed close. Santiago tightened his grip and reached for the ski mask. This time, he would find out who was behind the mask. He had to. “Who the hell are you?”

Obviously panicking now, the intruder jerked away violently, but Santiago had already caught the fabric and ripped it off. Just like that, everything stopped, the very air seeming to freeze in his lungs.

Very slowly, Santiago blinked. A woman stared back at him. It was a woman. Relief and shock took up equal space. A woman had taken his son. And brought him back only to steal from him?

It didn’t add up, but there was no denying the dark hair that spilled free around her shoulders. Although something wasn’t quite right. Because, despite his best efforts to concentrate, her face blurred strangely in front of him. So much so that it was impossible to focus on it properly, like smoke shifting through shadows. Santiago couldn’t tell the shape of her nose or the color of her eyes. Everything was blurred. Except her mouth.

Christ. He couldn’t look away from that mouth. Soft, full lips parted slightly as she breathed hard beneath him.

Then her gaze dropped briefly to his mouth. Santiago’s pulse turned dangerous. The room suddenly felt too small. Too warm. In the next moment, the woman shoved against his chest, trying to escape again, but Santiago caught her waist before she could move away.

“Wait,” he heard himself say.

Why the hell was he saying wait? He didn’t know. He certainly couldn’t remember saying that before, and part of him knew this was a memory, except it wasn’t playing out as though it should, and it felt so real, or maybe that was the desire he felt that wished it was real.

The woman stared up at him. And then Santiago stopped thinking and kissed her. It was like a jolt of electricity. Her lips were soft and warm against his, but unlike that brief, shocked kiss that lingered in his memory from that night, this one deepened instantly into something reckless and consuming.

His hand slid into her hair as he kissed her again. And again. It was consuming as it was frustrating because as much as Santiago tightened his hold, he couldn’t feel if her hair was soft or feel the warmth of her body as he pressed into her seeking more like a starved man.

Then the woman made a soft sound against his mouth that nearly destroyed what little sense he had left.

Beyond desperate to feel more, Santiago backed her against the desk before his hands slid lower, gripping her waist as though he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. His entire body was on fire with need. It crashed into him so fast it almost felt violent. He needed to sink himself into her body and feel her muscles spasm and clench around him. It was the only thing he could think of.

So, Santiago lowered her toward the carpet slowly without breaking the kiss once. Her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt as his mouth moved against hers, deeper this time, slower, hungrier.

Santiago woke abruptly. s**t! He drew in a breath, but his lungs still felt starved. It had been a dream. Of course, it had been a dream.

“What the hell…” His voice sounded rough. Blinking hard, Santiago sat up in his bed and looked down at himself. He wasn’t too surprised to find that his bare chest was covered in sweat or that his hard c**k dented the sheets still draped over his lower body.

Dragging a hand down his face, he tried to steady himself, but the images refused to disappear. He could still see the woman, and still her features eluded him except for her lips. Then he was thinking of the kiss that felt like a brand on his very soul.

His body still burned with the ghost of it. That was the worst part. It had felt real. But it wasn’t. Cursing through gritted teeth, Santiago threw back the sheets and stormed over to the bathroom.

Moments later, cold water blasted from the sink faucet. He splashed some onto his face once. Twice. Still, it didn’t help clear the fuzz from his brain or remind his d**k it wasn’t getting any action tonight.

Perhaps that was the problem. Since Claire’s death, Santiago could count on one hand how many times a woman had piqued his interest. The number was even less for the number of times he had followed through with the urge.

So perhaps this was his body’s way of telling him he was doing it more harm than good with his self-imposed celibacy. Yet he had to say, for his body to pick his encounter with an intruder who’d kidn*pped and stolen from him was worse than sad.

Droplets rolled down the sharp angles of his jaw as he gripped the marble sink and stared at his reflection. Damn, he looked exhausted. Worse, he looked unsettled.

The intruder had gotten into his head in ways Santiago didn’t understand and frankly didn’t appreciate.

A moment passed. “ This is ridiculous.” He was a grown man, for heaven’s sake, not some teenager fantasizing about mysterious women sneaking into his house.

The thought irritated him enough to finally step away from the sink. Thinking he needed a change of environment and probably a reminder of what was important, Santiago left the bathroom, tucked the gun in the back of his pajamas, and headed toward the nursery.

The hallway lights remained dim at this hour, casting the house in muted gold and shadow.

He still hated having Kaleth sleep separately. After the k********g, every instinct screamed at him to keep his son within arm’s reach at all times. But his housekeeper, Ms. Sarah, had insisted that disrupting the child’s routine further would only make things harder.

And Santiago respected her enough to listen. The older woman had worked in this house longer than most employees. She’d been with them when Claire was alive and when Kaleth was born. His son liked her. More importantly, Santiago trusted her.

Still, tonight he regretted taking her advice. Because as soon as he pushed open the nursery door and stepped inside, Santiago realized someone else stood beside the crib.