The Wrong Man by Delaney Diamond Read Free Book Online Page B

we going?” he asked.
    She gave up and went along with his steamroller behavior. Besides, she didn’t mind the company. “To get Indian food.”
    He wrinkled his nose, which was kind of adorable on a man with his masculine features. “Never had it.”
    “There’s a first time for everything, and that’s what I’m in the mood for.”
    He grunted.
    “Don’t be such a baby,” she said.
    “It better be good.”
    “It will be.” They approached the door of the restaurant and she turned around to smile at him. “I promise.”
    She didn’t know why she did that. Maybe because he’d told her to smile more, and being in his presence made her want to smile more. He reached above her head and pulled the door wider, getting much closer than he needed to. He looked down at her with a sexy half grin that made her heart jump and private parts of her anatomy tighten in unexpected awareness.
    “Promises, promises,” he said.

Chapter Seven
     
    He was going to fuck her. He didn’t know when and didn’t know how, but it would definitely happen. If Talia kept smiling at him like that it would happen sooner rather than later.
    Her hair fell past her shoulder blades in a luxurious mass, looking like she’d stepped out of a salon moments before. What he wouldn’t give to clench a handful of those locks and tug her head back to the perfect angle so he could taste the smooth lines of her throat. Her tempting bottom and curvaceous hips moved back and forth in front of him in a tangerine-colored sheath dress. The movement, not in the least bit overtly sexual, managed to be so nonetheless.
    He loved women, but he drew the line at sleeping with another man’s wife and had never had an affair with a married woman—not knowingly, anyway. So he hadn’t considered her fair game. Now she was free, all bets were off. When they did the deed, he would have her wear the same black heels she had on today with the straps crisscrossed over her ankles. Imagining her in his bed, legs in the air, wearing those sexy shoes made his groin muscles constrict so tightly it became difficult to walk without discomfort.
    An Indian woman dressed in a blue and gold sari led the way through the tables filled with diners. Cinnamon, cumin, curry—and other spices not so familiar—permeated the air. She seated them near the back in a booth with red seats and handed them menus.
    Tomas set his aside. “What do you suggest?” he asked.
    “Are you okay with spicy food?”
    He leaned back and spread one arm along the back of the booth. He had to concentrate not to stare at her mouth.
    “Of course. I’m Cuban.”
    “Not all Hispanic people like spicy food, and I didn’t want to assume.” She perused the menu.
    “You’re trying to be politically correct with me? Thank you, I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary. I’ve heard all kinds of things, believe me.”
    She looked up. “Like what?”
    “Like people assuming I came here by boat and got to stay under the wet foot dry foot policy.”
    She frowned. “Um, didn’t you? I thought—”
    “Yes, I did, but that doesn’t mean they have to assume it.”
    She giggled. There was that smile again, lighting up her eyes and face. Yeah, he was going to fuck her.
    “The trip must have been scary,” she said.
    He nodded. “There were fourteen of us on a small boat, mostly men, but a couple of women and a little girl only ten years old. When we landed, we were almost out of food. We only had a few pieces of stale bread left, some fruit, and less than a liter of water. A few times I doubted we’d survive the trip, but we did. Gracias a Dios .” He kissed the gold cross on his neck. “What had kept me, kept all of us going, was the hope of finding a better life in the United States. Worth the risk, even though we could be turned back or even worse, die at sea.”
    He’d made up his mind that if they didn’t manage to slip by the U.S. Coast Guard, he would try to enter through Mexico, another route