Page 6 of Total Abandon

As imposing as he is, Zeke Guerra has sat quietly for the last three hours and worked away like the rest of us to get this bug fixed. It’s been a herculean effort to focus on my work, especially when he removed his suit jacket, waistcoat, and tie, and rolled up the sleeves on his crisp white shirt. His biceps strain invitingly against the fabric as he leans back and clasps his hands behind his head, staring up at the drop ceiling tiles. A symphony of shuffling fills the air as the restof the team start to pack away. I tap my forefinger on my laptop twice, waiting for him to make a move. He doesn’t.

“Want me to walk you to the subway, Chloe?” I turn to see Steve hovering behind me, his hazel eyes brimming with hope.

Time to kick a puppy. I sigh internally.

“Thanks for the offer, but my boyfriend is picking me up.” I smile as kindly as I can. He’s made it clear that he wouldn’t complain if I paid him a little extra attention since I started. Steve is cute, all chestnut curls and quiet grace, but I’ve learned my lesson not to shit where I eat. Besides, it’s kind of hard to find the sweet, slightly dorky guy appealing when he’s in the orbit of someone as painfully masculine as Zeke Guerra. The comparison is almost comical. Despite having no interest in crossing that line with my boss, he eclipses every man in this place. And then some.

“Oh…oh, sure. No problem.” Steve gives me that tight-lipped smile I find myself doing when I feel uncomfortable.

Casey quirks her brow up behind him, as if to sayboyfriend?She knows as well as I do that the only thing I’m dating these days is my expansive vibrator collection. I don’t acknowledge it, because the side of my face is burning. And that can only mean one thing. Zeke Guerra is staring at me.

“See you tomorrow, though?” I smile brightly because Steve is looking like a fat kid just stole a slice of cake he really wanted to eat.

A pretty girl named Lucy who works in our team is lingering behind, taking her time packing up her things. Her wheat-colored skin is flushed pink at the apples of her cheeks, her sharply cut black hair falling to cover her face. She looks crestfallen and I want to grab stupid Steve by his stupid head and shake him for not realizing she’s totally into him.

“Lucy, are you walking alone? Steve is headed that way, you two should go together,” I call out, feeling a stab of pity as the woman jerks like she’s been caught fingering a Fabergé egg.

“Oh, um…yeah!” she squeaks, glancing up from beneath her dark lashes at Steve. Steve glances back and nods, offering her a polite smile. They filter out with the rest of the team as I start to close programs, offering Casey a quick wave as she rushes out.

“Why are men so fucking dumb sometimes?” I ask, unplugging my headset and wrapping the wire around the frame to pack it away. I’m very aware I’m still being stared at; I can practically feel his gaze scraping over my skin like a point. Like he might pierce me if he continues. We’re alone now, so I turn to look at him. The corners of his decadent mouth are downturned. He’s practically scowling at me. Deciding to meet him head on, I lean back in my chair to mirror him, tilting my chin up. The air crackles between us as his eyes narrow, scanning my face.

“Boyfriend?” He avoids my question, rumbling the word through teeth that sound suspiciously gritted.

A thrill runs through me. Is he…jealous? Fiery eyes, long fingers curled into a fist on one thigh… His stance is casual enough, one ankle slung over his knee. But his shoulders are definitely a little tight. I’m not oblivious to the effects a woman can have on a man. I decide to prod. Because of course.

“Mhmm.” I nod, crossing my arms and tapping my lips with a finger. “Military man, big guy, buns so tight you could bounce a quarter—”

“Watch your mouth,” he growls, moving so fast in his seat I barely register before he’s leaning toward me. His fingers clamp down around my wrist, dragging my finger down slowly from my lips. My stomach clenches as his glistening eyes follow the movement. They flare with heat, some of the light winking out into deep pools of onyx. My lower lip drags down, baring my teeth as his jaw clenches. My skin burns under his touch, sending sparks of electricity dancing to the tips of my fingers as he settles my hand on my thigh, pinning it there.

“Or what?” I challenge, my heart thundering an erratic tattoo against my ribs.

He stands, towering over me so high that I have to crane my neck all the way up to maintain eye contact. I swallow at the suggestiveness of it, my chin level with the zipper of his suit pants. I want to look.God, I want to look. But I don’t. He lifts his hand and drags a broad thumb across my lips, pressing them to the side and watching them pop back into place. Darkness flashes through those devilish irises.

“Or I’ll stuff it full for you, mi fuego.” His voice is like rough silk being dragged across my skin. Thick, abrasive, but somehow soft too. My answering intake of sharp breath slices the tense air between us. With that, he turns, scooping up his laptop and stalking away without another word. Practically panting, I watch his broad frame retreat, all coiled muscle and bunched tension. I blow out a deep breath.

Okay Guerra, you win that one.

Chapter 4

Miguel Guerra:We need to talk. Sunday at 8.

Logan:Dad says you need to be at the house Sunday. Sounds ominous.

Zeke:What makes that estúpido think he can order me anywhere?

Logan:He said to tell you he will show up at your place if you don’t.

ZEKE

“Mi chico ángel.” I smile, leaning back in my chair and extending a hand to Diego. He runs to me with an excited squeal, his black hair flopping over his tawny forehead. I catch him easily, scooping him up into my lap.

He places one still slightly chubby hand on my chest, his big warm brown eyes blinking up at me. “Papi, can we get ice cream?”

I chuckle, smoothing a hand down his back. It’s a sweltering day in Manhattan—so much so that even at dawn I was dripping with sweat two minutes into my run.

“Diego,” Maria chastises kindly from across the room. “I told you not to pester your father.” She chuckles, offering me an apologetic smile.

I shrug her off good-naturedly, returning my attention to the four-year-old boy in my lap. “If we go for ice cream, I don’t want to hear any more fussing about brushing your teeth at night.” I fix him with a stern glare that has his little brows trembling.