7: You don't sleep alone tonight

My breath caught, and I swallowed hard. “And what exactly does that mean?” My voice was low, shaky, daring him to answer.

Santiago’s smile was all silk and danger. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand moved across the table – slow, deliberate. Two fingers brushed my wrist, feather-light, tracing up the inside of my arm until goosebumps rose in their wake.

He leaned in, his lips close enough that only I could hear. “It means…” his voice dropped into something rougher, edged with steel, “if you disobey me, or misbehave in any way…” His fingers reached my elbow, squeezing gently but firmly. “…I remind you who you’re with.”

Then – swift, unexpected – his other hand captured mine against the table, pinning it down just enough for my breath to hitch. His grip wasn’t painful, but there was no mistaking the strength in it.

He tilted his head, watching me closely.

“Like this,” he murmured.

The restaurant didn’t notice. To everyone else, it looked like we were simply holding hands across the table. But I knew differently. I tried to pull back, testing him – and his grip didn’t move an inch.

“Santiago…” My voice caught between warning and plea.

“Say stop,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “One word, and I let go.”

I didn’t. I couldn't. Heat twisted low in my stomach.

Instead, I bit my lip, glaring at him – defiant.

That earned me a dangerous chuckle. He lifted my trapped hand slowly, deliberately, until the back if it brushed his lips. A kiss – soft, reverent, yet claiming.

Then he released me, leaning back in his chair as if nothing had happened.

“Careful, mi ángel,” he warned, boyish smile curling his mouth. “Push me too far, and you’ll find out what kind of punishment I mean.”

My fingers tingled where he’d held me, my whole body on edge.

I wasn’t sure if I was trembling because I was afraid – or because I wanted to know.

I traced my hand back into my lap, rolled my eyes at him, and tried to steady my breathing.

He caught the gesture instantly. His smile sharpened into something wolfish, his eyes narrowing in warning. “Eye-rolling,” he said, voice a velvet growl, “is definitely misbehaving.”

He leaned back casually, reaching for his glass of wine, taking a slow deliberate sip before setting it down again. Then, with deliberate ease, his hand slid under the table.

I stiffened instantly.

His knuckles brushed against my knee, gently at first, almost innocent.

My breath caught. I darted a glance at him, but he was looking at the menu again, as though nothing was happening.

“Relax, mi ángel,” he said smoothly, eyes flicking up to mine at last. “No one’s watching but me.”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself, but my body betrayed me, leaning subtly toward him.

His fingers pressed firmer against my thigh, the heat of his palm burning through the thin fabric of my dress.

“What are you doing?” I hissed under my breath, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Punishing you,” he said smoothly. “For teasing me. For misbehaving. For pretending you don’t want what you clearly do.”

His hand pressed higher, trailing upward in an unhurried glide that stole the air from my lungs. I clenched my thighs together, breath shallow, but it only made him chuckle—a low, dangerous sound that coiled in my stomach.

He leaned in close, brushing his lips against my cheek. “Say stop, Valerie,” he whispered, low and commanding. “Say it, and I’ll let you go.”

I gripped the edge of the table so hard my knuckles whitened. I should have said it. Every rational thought screamed at me to say it. But the word stuck in my throat, caged by the wild heat rushing through my veins.

“Santiago…” My whisper cracked, betraying me.

“You can stop this,” he reminded me softly, his lips curling. “Just one word.”

I reached for a menu with my free hand, flipping it open to the dessert section in a clumsy attempt at distraction.

Santiago chuckled softly when I didn’t answer, the sound vibrating against my skin. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured.

I shivered, torn between outrage and hunger. My chest heaved, trying to catch air, while his hand lingered on that dangerous edge, reminding me how easily he could undo me.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d started, he withdrew his hand, leaving my body cold, trembling in the absence of his touch. He picked up a croqueta from the platter, bit into it, and smiled like nothing had happened.

“Eat, mi ángel,” he said lightly, tilting his head as though he hadn’t just nearly undone me in front of an entire restaurant. “You’ll need your strength.”

I stared at him, heart hammering, unsure if I wanted to throw the croqueta at his smug face— or climb into his lap.

Before I could decide, the soft chime of the restaurant door rang, and the low hum of conversation died completely. I followed the silence, and I saw Julián standing by the door. His sharp suit looked out of place among the rustic tiles and candlelight and his expression carried enough weight to silence the entire room. No staff greeted him, and he didn’t acknowledge them at all. Nor the other diners. His gaze scanned for Santiago. It took him a few strides before reaching our table.

“Señor Morales,” he said quiet, but I could feel the tension in his voice.

Santiago leaned back slowly, swirling the wine in his glass, looking bored.

“Julián. You’re interrupting my dinner.”

Julián moved closer, his voice dropping. “You should know – Wiktor’s men are moving. They followed us from the café. Two blocks down, black sedan. They’re watching the building.”

A chill slid down my spine.

Santiago’s smile never faltered, but his hazel eyes darkened like smoke. “Cowards. Always watching, never acting.”

Then his gaze shifted to me with intense eyes. The atmosphere around him changed – playful lion replaced by predator. Santiago flexed his jaw, setting his glass down with a quiet clink.

“Well,” he sighed, “change of plans.”

I swallowed hard, sensing the danger, my stomach twisting. “So, what does that mean?”

“It means,” Santiago said, standing with deliberate calm, tugging me up beside him, “you don’t sleep alone tonight.”