Playing With Fire. Rebecca Hunter
EPILOGUE
SIMON RODRIGUEZ PULLED off the road across from the gated entrance of the Spanish-style house and put the rental car into Park. He rubbed his jaw, scraping his fingers over the unshaven scruff he hadn’t bothered with this morning at the hotel. No one lived in this house anymore as far as he knew. No one would witness this one last glimpse at the place that had almost wrecked him.
He pulled off his sunglasses and rolled down the window of the black town car for a better look. Damn, it was hot in Miami Beach, that sticky, heavy hot that made an afternoon of construction work a living hell. He had quit that kind of manual labor when he enlisted and left Miami eleven years ago, but his reaction was still visceral. Just one more reason he’d gotten the fuck out of here, out of this state, out of this country. Away from the one woman Simon should never have gotten involved with.
Best decision of his life.
So, what was he doing here, in front of Marianna Ruiz’s house? She had moved out of this place years ago when she got married. The gate was locked shut. And wasn’t it damned fitting that even after her father’s death, Simon was still barred from the place.
He was saying goodbye for the very last time. That was what he was doing. Clearly, the other last time wasn’t painful enough to keep him away. But there was nothing left to suck him in again. He’d just get a little closure.
Simon stared at the enormous structure behind the gates, partly hidden behind lush green palm trees that lined the property. Off to the side, the very top of the boathouse was visible, the boathouse he and his father had built one summer long ago. If Marianna hadn’t sold off her father’s estate yet, it probably still sheltered the boat where he and Marianna had—
A red sports car screeched to a stop by the driveway. Startled, Simon whipped his head around. The gates creaked open, and the vehicle lurched forward, tires squealing. It headed up the narrow asphalt, then shrieked to a halt again, front tires digging into the grass. The driver laid on his horn a couple times. What the hell?
The front door of the house opened, and a woman stepped out. Her face was covered in shadow as she closed the door behind her, but he’d know that woman anywhere.
Marianna.
It was a punch in the gut. Her dark, wavy hair was longer now, and she wore a white button-up shirt and a red skirt. Definitely a woman, not a girl anymore. Still beautiful.
Marianna pushed her hair back from her face and crossed her arms. As she stepped into the sunlight, walking down the front steps toward the sports car, he fought that old, familiar ache deep down.
Simon frowned. What was Marianna doing here, at her father’s old house? And what the hell was up with the driver of the car?
A man climbed out and slammed the door shut, heading toward her way too fast. Simon gripped the steering wheel of his rental, ignoring the painful squeeze in his chest. The guy was clean-cut, with a crisp dress shirt and pants, but his fists were balled, and his face flushed in angry red. And he was walking toward the woman Simon had told himself he never wanted to see again. He should turn on the engine and get far away from here before he did something stupid.
“Goddammit, Marianna. What the fuck are you trying to pull?” the guy yelled.
The asshole stormed up to her, coming way too close. And yelling way too loud. “You can’t just go down to the pier and ask to open up the shipments. You have no idea the kind of shit you’re messing with.”
Marianna shrank back from him, but the guy took that as an invitation to step closer. Simon gritted his teeth, wishing like hell he had just stayed away.
She stumbled a little as she stepped onto the lawn. The dickhead was a lot bigger than her, but even as she backed away, she jutted her chin up at him, trying to hold her ground. Like she had stood up to him before.
Simon grimaced. Shit. The situation was going downhill fast. He couldn’t leave a scene like this. He had years of reading incidents under his belt, and everything about this guy screamed volatile.
“It’s my company, too, William,” she said, her voice steady. “In fact, it’s my name that’s on it, in case you’ve forgotten.”
William. Her husband. William Rooney III, a name synonymous with wealth and privilege. Everything that Simon couldn’t give her eleven years ago. My cue to get the fuck out of here. Except that William looked more like a brawler than a country-club boy right now, and Simon didn’t like Marianna’s odds if the man decided to get physical. This guy was twice her size and had a volatile look about him.
Now wasn’t the time for Simon to lose his shit. He had watched this kind of scene play out too many times, men teetering on the delicate line between anger and violence. This one could go either way. But Simon was not getting out of this car. He was not coming face-to-face with Marianna again. Not unless there was no other way.
“You know nothing about what makes Ruiz Imports work, and it will all come crashing down if you don’t back the hell off.” William’s loud growl echoed across the lawn as he moved into her personal space. “So go back to your client dinners and your charity bullshit and leave this alone.”
Marianna shook her head. “You need to leave or I’ll call the police. This is my house. You can’t come here.”
“Don’t ever tell me what to do.”
His voice was low and menacing, and the asshole grabbed her arm. Marianna flinched.
It all happened so quickly that Simon didn’t remember getting out of his car. The next thing he knew he was walking straight for them, taking in the environment, calculating every risk. This man was heated, explosive, and all Simon could think about was getting him far away from Marianna.
He headed through the gate and crossed the lawn, just out of William’s line of sight. Every step forward was a strain on his tight grip of self-control. He was silent until he was within reach. Best to catch this guy off guard. Probably the type that only responded to a show of power.
“Take your hand off her.” Simon’s voice was cold, threatening.
“Who the hell are you?” William swung around, his eyes wild. “This is none of your fucking business. Leave. Now.”
Anger rolled off this guy, but now it was directed at Simon. The guy’s focus was broken.
“Simon?” whispered Marianna. The shock on her face was unmistakable.
His heart twisted in a fresh, painful squeeze. Goddamn. That voice. He couldn’t get distracted. He couldn’t even look at her. Not until this asshole was far away.
“Take your hand off her.” Simon kept his voice calm but wedged himself between William and Marianna.
The guy was a bully, but up close he didn’t look like much of a fighter. It took another moment for William to register that Simon had every advantage here. Height. Weight. Technique. Scowling, William let his arm drop and stepped back.
“You don’t know what the hell you’re getting involved with,” William spat.
Actually, Simon knew exactly what he was getting involved with.
“She asked you to leave,” said Simon.
Every time William hesitated, Simon inched over, putting himself farther between the two, keeping Marianna shielded behind him. William shook his head in disgust, backing away toward the car. “Stay the fuck away from the piers, Marianna. You’re already in too deep.”
William climbed into the red sports car and revved the engine. He skidded back onto the pavement and drove away.