5: Only girl in the world

I hit his chest again – once, twice – anger trembling through my fists.

“Don’t,” I said, even as his mouth found mine again. “Don’t –“

But the protest broke on his lips.

He kissed me like a promise he intended to keep – steady, unhurried, infuriatingly gentle.

The heat of him met the cold on my skin; cedar and rain and the faint bitterness of coffee. There was comfort in his kiss – something I needed after my meeting with Marek.

Something in me splintered.

Tears slipped free, warm tracks down my cold cheeks. He felt them. His hand loosened on my arm and slid up, cradling my jar with care that made me angrier. I caught his wrist, meaning to shove him away – he didn’t get to wipe away my tears when he was the one who put them there – but instead I just held on.

“I hate you,” I whispered against his mouth, the words shaking. “You put me in danger. I hate – “

He swallowed the rest, not greedy, not demanding – just with a silent comfort. Soft instead of fire.

And my traitorous body leaned into it. My hands curled into his jacket, clutching the labels like a ledge, dragging him closer because I hated falling, and this felt like landing.

He breathed my name, a broken “Valerie,” and the sound undid me. I kissed him back – messy, wet with tears, angry and aching – because he lied to me, invited me to a café where danger was on the menu, and because I wanted him so badly. Heat was pooling low in my stomach; my body tingling, yearning for his touch.

When he finally lifted his head, it was only a breath’s distance. His forehead rested against mine. His thumb swept the corner of my mouth, catching a tear.

“Lo siento,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

My laugh came out raw. “You’re not.”

“I am,” he insisted, eyes searching mine. “For the fear. Not for the coffee.”

I sniffed, swallowing the next sob. “You knew something would happen.”

“I knew people would come to harass Javier. He asked for my help.” His honesty made me want to hit him again – and kiss him again. His eyes saddened, “I didn’t know they’d touch you. That, I won’t forgive.”

“I don’t need your forgiveness,” I snapped, but my anger dulled when he brushed his nose against mine. I closed my eyes. Another tear fell. He caught that one too.

“Then take my promise,” he said. “I won’t use you. Not as a door, not as a shield.”

“You already did,” my voice was small. “You invited me into a storm.”

His hand tightened around my waist. “Then I stand in front of it,” he said. “Every time.”

Silence stretched between us. My mind was racing. What was I doing? I didn’t even know the guy – except he was mixed up in dangerous things, things he wasn’t being entirely honest about.

But I also knew he was protective, loyal to his friends, and not afraid to step into the fire.

And a damn good kisser.

I drew a breath. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I might stay mad.”

He chuckled, a sound that tugged low in my belly. “I’ll survive it.”

A shiver ran through my body, making me tremble.

Santiago’s smile vanished as he looked me over - not with hunger, like Marek, but with concern.

"¿Estás congelándote, querida?" He asked.

I tried to decipher the words, desperately trying to make good of those Spanish lessons years ago. When he saw my puzzled expression, he chuckled and translated: "Are you freezing, my dear?"

"Sorry, my Spanish isn't that good," I confessed. Then I shrugged. "I guess I am."

Without hesitation, he slipped off his elegant suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders before I could protest. "No, Santiago, I can't –”,

I started, but he raised a hand, silencing me with the weight of his authority.

"Nonsense, mi ángel. What kind of a man lets a woman freeze?"

“What kind of man brings a woman into danger?” I shot back. He smirked, slightly amused, eyes darkening a shade.

“The same kind of man who invites her to dinner to make it up to her.”

His invitation took me by surprise, and for a second, I was lost for words.

This was insane. I used to be cautious. Smart. Careful. The girl who didn’t put herself in dangerous, and stupid, situations – like this one.

But there was something about this beautiful man. Like I was under a spell. His spell.

One look at his dazzling eyes, and all caution and common sense went out the window. Now my heart – or maybe my body – was calling the shots.

Maybe it was grief - a reaction to losing my father, and realizing that not only was I now utterly alone, I was also unwanted.

Maybe that's why it felt so damn good to be seen. To be wanted. To be desired.

And the way El León looked at me - I felt like the only girl in the world.

“One condition,” I heard myself say, before I had made up my mind.

One of his brows rose.

“You don’t lie to me. Not even to make me feel safe.”

His eyes sharpened, measuring me.

“My line of work can be … dangerous. I don’t want to burden you with the details, mi ángel.”

I opened my mouth to protest. “But -,” he cut in gently, “I’m willing to answer one question completely honestly. Right now.”

I bit my lip, thinking. He didn’t want to talk about his business – that was clear. And after today, I had a vague idea about what it was. I hate myself for admitting this – but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more about it. It had to be a question I needed the full truth about. I thought of our little dance earlier, and then I knew.

“Why me?”

He seemed surprised by my question, like he was expecting something entirely different.

Then his eyes softened, and an alluring smile appeared.

“Because the moment I saw you standing in the rain, Valerie, my world both fell apart and fell back together. It was like seeing my future and remembering my past. The moment I saw your face, I remembered a dusty old dance studio my mamá had dragged me to when I was 8 – saying a Spanish man must know how to dance, to honor his legacy,” he said in her voice, making me giggle despite myself, “and then, I saw you.”

He closed his eyes, like remembering a dream. “Six years old, broken and brave at the same time. Carrying a pain a child should never carry. And I instantly felt a need to protect you, shelter you – carry your agony. But I didn’t know how to. So instead, I just hugged you. Held you, stroked your hair. And then you smiled at me, mi ángel. And my whole world settled.”

He opened his eyes, smiling at me. Wide-eyed, my mouth fell open. “The pivot – that’s how you knew.” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Sí,” he nodded, his eyes kind and warm. “And eventually we danced – but of course my sweet mamá thought I was harassing the innocent girl and chased me off with a shoe.”

A shocked laugh escaped me. “That was you?”

“Guilty.”

“But then I never saw you again.” He tilted his head, “I often thought of you.”

“Yeah… Life had other plans for me.” I looked away, but his finger caught my jaw and gently pulled it back. “You don’t have to tell me your pain, if you don’t want to – but never hide it from me, mi ángel.”

I looked at him, wanting to tell him everything, and nothing at all on the same time. Then I looked over his shoulder and saw Javier’s café. My stomach twisted.

“What happens now?” I gestured toward the café.

“Now?” he said. “Now we wait. I pay for the damage, I send flowers to Rosita, Ana’s mother. We increase security.”

“And then what?”

“They’ll come back,” he said simply.

My breath hitched. “When?”

“Soon,” he admitted. “But not today. Men like Marek, and especially Marek’s boss, don’t like losing face – they lick their wounds, and then they come back.”

“Is what wise,” I gazed at the café, watching the silhouettes moving in the window, “waiting?”

His eyes darkened, and that devilish smile was back. “Would you rather send me to war, mi ángel?”

“What? No Santiago, that’s not –” He started laughing, cutting me off.

“Valería, look at you, playing the devil’s wife.” I blushed, short for words.

He leaned in. "By the way, querida," he murmured, his eyes dark with a new kind of hunger, "I love the way you say my name." Shock waves rolled through me as he planted a soft kiss on my hand.

“Dinner?” He held out a hand, waiting patiently for me to take it. I hesitated before sliding my hand in his.