I felt him move, saw his hand holding the remote in my peripheral vision and the TV snapped on, a ballgame appeared and the hand disappeared.

As if he hadn't just settled us comfortably in his bed like we'd be sharing our golden wedding anniversary the next evening and not doing this for the very first time ever, he continued the conversation.

"Your mind at dinner was occupied with an attempted freeze out which, mi cielo, is cute, I gotta admit, but it's only fair to let you know, it's not gonna work."

My body went still. He thought the Ice Princess was cute? Cute?

The Ice Princess was not cute! I knew grown men that feared her!

Well, maybe not feared, perhaps they just disliked her and gave her a wide berth.

It was good I was moving to Crete because if he thought my Ice Princess was cute then I was in a mess of trouble.

"We'll order a pizza if you're hungry," he told me.

I crossed my arms on my chest, stared at the TV and contradicted my earlier lie, "I'm not hungry."

His arm came around me, his forearm resting on my chest, his fingers curled around my opposite shoulder.

"You want something, let me know," he said and he sounded distracted.

Obviously the game had called his attention.

So I thought it might be safe to ask an eensy, teensy, tiny, little personal question just because I was dying to know and since I didn't get the gift I intended to give myself that evening, I was going to go for something different.

"What's the tattoo on your chest mean?" I asked casually like whatever answer to a brokenhearted tattoo question would mean nothing at all whatsoever to me.

"Belinda," he replied, still sounding distracted.

I was not distracted. My body went still again.

"Belinda?" I asked.

"My ex," he answered.

Oh... my... God.

He had a tattoo of a broken heart on his chest. No, he had a tattoo of a broken heart over his heart on his chest! A tattoo he got for Belinda!

"Was it a bad break?" I was still going for casual but my voice sounded breathy.

Now, why did I ask that? Why? What was wrong with me? Now I was punishing myself and getting myself into stupid, terrifying situations.

"You could say that, since she broke it off three months before the wedding."

Before I could think better of it (or, say, think at all), I shot up to a seated position and twisted to look at him, my mouth open.

Then I snapped it closed.

Then I spoke. "She broke up with you three months before your wedding?"

Oh my God!

Hector had been engaged. He'd nearly been married!

Oh my GOD!

He didn't move, his body still reclined on the pillows, the sheets to his waist, his chest displayed, only his eyes came to me.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Why?" I asked.

"She wanted a nine-to-five guy who mowed the lawn on the weekends. I'm not a nine-to-five guy who mows the lawn on the weekend. She couldn't handle me being on assignment, away for days or weeks or even months not being able to contact her. She tried to talk me into a desk job. I told her the man who put the ring on her finger was a field agent for the DEA and that's who she'd have to marry. She saw I was serious, pawned the ring, got her Mom to call the church, hall and guests and took a vacation at an all-inclusive in Acapulco."

My eyes narrowed.

"She pawned your ring?" I spat, sounding frighteningly like Ralphie.

But seriously. Who would pawn Hector "Oh my God" Chavez's ring? Who would try to make Hector something he was not? Who would go to Acapulco alone when they could go to Acapulco with Hector? On their honeymoon even!

Was she nuts?

I realized belatedly that Hector was smiling a huge, blinding white smile at me.

Oh no.

What had I given away?

He did an ab crunch, his hands came to my shoulders, twisted me so my back was to him, his arm went around my chest and he pulled me into my earlier position. But this time his arm was wrapped tighter.

"Calm down, mamita, my sister Gloria went to her house and roughed her up when she got back from Mexico. It was a couple of years ago, you can stand down."

There was the answer; I'd given it all away.

Darn it!

I decided to move attention off me "standing down". "Your sister Gloria roughed her up?"

"Catfight. Not pretty. Word is, Gloria won."

I wanted to laugh and clap my hands for an absent sister I would probably never meet.

Of course, I did not.

"She broke your heart," I said to the TV.

His fingers did a squeeze on my shoulder. "I'm over it."

"It hurt enough for you to tattoo it on your chest," I pointed out.

"I didn't get the tat because she marked me, I got the tat to remind myself of the lesson I learned. She was beautiful, great body, fantastic in bed and she could be sweet when she wanted but most of the time she was a nagging bitch. Every time I see the tat, it reminds me not to be led around by my dick."

All right then, more proof that Hector was as real as you could get.

It was clear, at this juncture, it was time for me to steer us into safer waters.

"So, what's the skull with the crown and the rose mean?"

Hector's body tensed and the air in the room immediately felt heavy. My body tensed at his reaction and the feel of the air.

Eyes on the TV, I didn't even try to be casual when I whispered, "Hector?"

He sighed, his body relaxed but his arm around me got tighter.

"I got it to celebrate nailing your father."

Of course.

He got it to celebrate, forever and ever, putting King Drug Man, Mr. Death to many (probably), better known as my fucking father, in prison. That was just great.

Well if I didn't already have my proof that we were ill-suited, it was tattooed on Hector's fucking back.

"And the rose clamped in his teeth?" I asked, wanting to know what that meant, perversely looking for more reasons to buy my tickets to Crete and fill my luggage with beach towels even as I was wearing Hector's t-shirt and lying in his bed with his arm around me.

"The rose is you."

Plans of buying beach towels flew out of my head, my stomach dropped, my heart seized and I could feel a tremor shiver through my body.

"Me?" I whispered.

He did another ab crunch, his arm moved to around my waist, he twisted me so I was facing him and reclined, me pressed mostly to his front with my face close to his.

I put my hand on his chest and pressed up but his arm went solid at my waist and I stilled.

"You," he said firmly, his eyes back to that warm intensity. "In time, this arm..." He squeezed me with his right arm but lifted his left. "Right here..." His right arm left me and he pointed to the inside of his forearm and my eyes moved there then back to his as his arm came around me again. "Is gonna have the same rose. Because you belong on my arm. Do you understand what I'm sayin' to you?"

I understood what he was saying. I understood what he meant when he said "My Sadie" now too.

The tremor shivered through my body again.

"Sadie, do you understand what I'm sayin' to you?" he asked again, his tone no less firm but it had grown slightly soft.

I was staring at him but I forced myself to nod. I couldn't trust myself to speak.

His arm went tight around me, sliding partly up my back, hand catching under my shoulder blade, bringing me to him. He kissed me, slow, sweet, mouths open, tongues tangling, toes (or at least my toes) curling.

His mouth broke from mine and he murmured, "Now, we've had our talk. You know where I stand. Can we watch the game?"

I nodded again. His arm loosened, I turned, rested against him and stared, unfocused, on the game.

Blooming heck.

I wasn't in a mess of trouble, I was beyond trouble. I was in so deep, I was over my head and the water felt so warm, snugly, comfy, lovely that I was beginning to wonder if I minded drowning.

Chapter Twelve.

I Think I Made Hector Mad.

Sadie.

My sleeping body jerked awake when I heard the loud noise from somewhere too close for comfort.

Then it froze when I heard the crash.

I had nearly a nanosecond to assess my position tucked tight against Hector's warm body, his arm around my waist, my cheek on his left pectoral, my hand resting dead center on his chest, Before that nanosecond was over, his heat vanished and a blast of cold hit me.

I lifted up on an arm, my heart racing, pulling back my hair with my other hand and seeing Hector's shadowy body moving beside the bed.

He had the bedside drawer open, I heard a soft thump as he put whatever it was on the nightstand and then his hand immediately came out, his fingers closing around my wrist. He lifted up my arm and I felt him press something in my hand.

"Stay here. You feel a bad vibe, hear something you don't like, you dial 911," he whispered. Then he tagged whatever was on the bedside table and disappeared from the room.

I stared at the door and heard noise, voices and visions of Marty or Ricky blowing Hector's beautiful head off danced sickeningly through my head.

I threw back the covers in a flurry and tiptoed across the room to the side of the door. If someone was going to come and get me, I wasn't going to be sitting in bed waiting for them.

I pressed my shoulder against the wall by the door and assessed my options.

I had Hector's cell phone in my hand. This was lame.

I could get one of his boots. I could seriously clobber someone with one of Hector's boots.

Or I could get one of my spiked heels. I could poke someone in the eye with the spiked heel. That would sting.

On that thought, I heard raised voices, Hector's and a female's. They were yelling at each other in Spanish. Although this was yelling, it was not bad vibe yelling, it was irritated yelling.

I took a deep breath and crept out the door, down the hall and the yelling kept going, mostly the female.

I made it to the top of the stairs and looked down.

There was a light on and Hector was standing at the foot of the stairs, his back to me, the King Skull on display, a gun held loosely in his hand.