Streets of Valencia (#2 in The Billionaire Series)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Federica's head snapped up as surprise warred with the deep sound purring in her ears. No, he couldn't be. But he was.

Her gaze traveled up from a pair of boots clad feet up legs in dark blue jeans that got their form from muscular, stare-at-me legs. The cocky male stood with those legs, long damn legs, at a stance that enhanced his dominating figure at the door, a top clad in what she suspected was another vest in chrome grey, and a lightweight jacket of some deep brown doing nothing but enhancing the musculature of crossed arms.

And the eyes, so deep they looked dark from his foreboding shadow. And his lips, scarred, capable of use, were curved in an arrogant, dare-to-deny smirk.

Federica surged up to her feet, some part of her jumping from the clawing hands of memory. But those same hands slapped her when her mind reminded her body what had happened last time. Anger mercifully surged forward, but she fisted her hands on the metal of her purse, forcing it down.

She made sure to breathe before asking, "Why would I miss you?" in a calm voice as she tilted her chin up and arched a haughty brow.

He grinned, the smile stretching wicked lips and displaying a bright smile. "Here I thought I'd made an impression," he said.

Federica's gaze snapped to his greys before she could stop her glower. She physically shoved her chin up. "Oh, you did," she answered. "I chose to shore it up with the other flies."

Juan laughed, throwing back his head as he let go of his crossed arms to brace each against the doorframe. It opened up that jacket and showed the chrome vest covering a set of abs and a lean waist. "Then I'd better buzz into the fly," he smiled. And showed a mischievousness she couldn't comprehend twinkling in his eyes. Her heart stuttered. She shoved the sensations of warmth in her gut away.

She fought to keep her spine straight. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I saw that kid leave," he said instead.

It brought Federica to a stop and made her frown. "Who-" but she suddenly understood, and she glared at him. "He has a name, and every right to be here."

Juan laughed, but she couldn't shake off the sharp look in his eyes. "Not your boyfriend, eh?" he quirked a brow. He was watching her that way again, like a fighter sizing his opponent in the rink, not at all denying his strength in a benignant lean against the door jab. No, not Juan.

The feeling of helplessness at that table returned full throttle, threatening to overwhelm her into a panic attack. She hadn't panicked like that since she was ten years old, and she wouldn't be planning to do it any time soon. He'd made her feel that.

She shouldn't have been condoning him after that merciless assault.

"I'll say it once," she said, her voice tight, anger the only emotion in her. "That is none of your business. What are you doing here, anyway?" she demanded, glaring at him. At his eyes, she reminded herself. Keep on staring at his eyes.

And don't drool.

Juan shrugged, his gaze leaving hers to cast a curious look around the room, looking every bit the ruthless, rough born and bred male, making her concentration dwindle, and her will-strength strain. He officially dominated that door, a physique so overpowering she felt his presence, his sensuality, ten feet from him. And he wasn't even looking at her.

She snapped her gaze from the rippling effect of abs under the cotton, caught the knowing grin. "It's a youth centre," he said, his deep timbre a caress she immediately shrugged off, his lips playing with the word.