Crave: Not Until You, Part 3. Roni Loren

The trip home from the hotel was painfully quiet. I sat in between Foster and Pike in the back of the cab. Pike was leaning against the window, eyes closed, half dozing, and Foster was like an automaton version of himself—only speaking when absolutely necessary.

I had no idea what had changed in the span of the last few hours, but my wild night out had morphed into something decidedly more somber. I tugged on the short tennis skirt Foster had bought from the hotel shop to save me the walk of shame in my wrinkled dress. The gesture had been thoughtful, sweet even. But he’d shirked off my thank-you like he hadn’t even heard me.

Anxiety bubbled in my stomach at the thought of the good-bye this morning. Why in God’s name had I chosen my neighbors? Last night, the crush-driven idea had seemed ingenious. Now I realized how stupid I’d been. Morning-after awkwardness was bad enough, but there was no way I was going to be able to avoid facing them regularly during these last few weeks I was living here.

The cab rolled to a stop at the curb in front of our building, and Foster paid the driver. He slid out of the car and held his hand out to me, the consummate gentleman, even in his cool state. Once I was on my feet and had grabbed my plastic bag of discarded clothes, I moved to let go of Foster’s hand. But instead of allowing me to escape, he gathered me to his side, planting a hand at the small of my back.

I sent him a curious look but let him guide me toward the door. Pike jogged in front of us and grabbed the door to hold it open for the two of us.

“You’re a hard man to read,” I said, half under my breath.

“Am I?” Foster asked, continuing to look forward as we climbed the stairs. “I would think I’m painfully transparent at the moment.”

“You’re angry,” I said, speaking what I already knew.

He sighed, his fingers pressing into my back. “Not at you, angel. Not at you.”

“We need to—” I began, but my words lodged like popcorn in my throat when I reached the top of the stairs and saw the imposing figure leaning against my doorway. “Oh, shit.”

Foster tensed like a Rottweiler spotting a pit bull in his path. “What the hell?”

Andre turned around and spotted me, my brother’s dark eyes filling with relief. “Marcela. Jesus, you’re all right, thank God,” he said, coming toward me.

But when his gaze jumped to the man beside me, Andre reared up, stiffened, and took on that badass cop pose I knew so well.

I instantly moved away from Foster’s touch. “Andre, what are you doing here?”

He stared down at me, his eyes jumping to the Hotel St. Mark insignia on my polo shirt, then back to my face. I could almost hear his teeth gnash together. “I stopped by to take my baby sister out for brunch to celebrate her graduation.”

“You could’ve called.”

He raised his hand, cell phone facing out. “I did. Four times. And your house phone. You know how scary it is to have your sister tell you she’s in for the night and then she’s nowhere to be found the next morning? I was picturing you dead on the road somewhere, Cela.”

I winced. “Sorry. I decided to go out.”

“And not come home until the next morning, wearing hotel clothes?”

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business,” Foster said, his tone almost bored.

Of course, Pike, who’d stayed behind to grab the mail, chose that moment to step up behind us. “Hey, doc, you forgot your purse in the cab.”

I closed my eyes, wishing my brother would just poof into thin air and that this was some waking nightmare.

But when I opened my eyes again, Andre’s face had gone red—a feat, considering his skin tone. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Andre,” Foster said, obviously nonplussed by the imposing force that was my brother. “I suggest you take a breath and stop talking to your sister like she’s a child, especially considering the glass house you’re about the throw a rock through.”

That caught Andre’s attention—and mine. I looked between the two of them. Andre’s eyes narrowed as he studied Foster. “I know you from somewhere.”

Foster smirked. “Yeah, you do.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Let’s talk later.”

I nodded numbly, not sure exactly how these two could possibly know each other or what Foster’s comment to Andre had meant. “Sure.”

Pike sent me an apologetic smile, handed my purse to me, and then both men disappeared into their apartment, leaving me there with Andre.

The minute the door shut, my fists curled around the plastic bag I was holding. “I cannot believe you just embarrassed me like that. What the hell is wrong with you?”

I shoved past him and stabbed my key into the lock. Andre was right behind me, following me into the apartment like a dark cloud flooding the room. “You had me fucking worried, Marcela. I’ve been in a near panic trying to find you. And then you walk in, dressed in clothes that aren’t yours with not just one but two strange dudes.”

“Foster and Pike aren’t strangers.”

“Foster and …” He paused, a light switch seeming to flip on in his brain, and grimaced. “Ah, fuck me.”

“What?”

“Nothing. What are you thinking hanging out with guys like that?”

I tossed my keys, purse, and bag onto the kitchen counter. “This is not your business.”

“They’re grown men, and you’re, you’re …”

“A grown woman, Dre,” I said, exasperated. “Despite what you and Papá seem to think. They even let me vote and pay taxes. Can you imagine?”

“Don’t be a smartass. You had me ready to call hospitals.”

I sighed, the lack of sleep settling on me, and lowered myself onto one of my barstools. My body was still tender, and I tried to cover the inevitable flinch.

Andre’s lips went white from pressing them together so hard. “Did those jerks hurt you? Because if they did, I swear—”

“Oh my God,” I said, pressing the heel of my hand to my brow bone. “Stop. Of course they

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Crave: Not Until You, Part 3. Roni Loren

Crave: Not Until You, Part 3

NOT UNTIL YOU Part III NOT UNTIL YOU CRAVE Roni Loren

Contents

NOT UNTIL YOU

Part III

NOT UNTIL YOU CRAVE

Roni Loren