Chica Bella Read Free

floors of stairs wouldn’t have been a challenge for him, but he was simply too tired.
    The elevator arrived, and he rode it to the top floor. His boots echoed on the tiled hallway as he made his way to his room. Once there, he stuck his key in the door and stepped inside.
    The furnishings were exactly as he had remembered, and that made him smile.
    The warm, brown wood floors gleamed with a high shine. The king-sized bed was covered in a chocolate brown and white comforter and held half a dozen big, thick pillows. To his right was a small bar with bottles of tequila, rum, and vodka. Below them sat a small refrigerator filled with sodas, beer, and water. He grabbed a beer and went to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony and stepped out. Right away, he was wrapped in the warm ocean breeze, its slight briny smell channeling up his nose. He inhaled deeply, feeling the cleansing begin.
    Moving out onto the balcony, he went to the railing and leaned on his elbows, closing his eyes. Yes, it was renewing coming here. Cabo was a place of incredible beauty, a place where he was able to forget his duties as a Navy SEAL, forget about the missions he had been on, the people who wanted to kill him, and those he had killed. It was a place where he could let go of being a highly trained specialist, and focus on just being a man. He inhaled again and let the mellow relaxation that Cabo San Lucas brought him seep into his bones.
    After a moment he went back into the room, not bothering to close the door or the curtains. He stripped off his clothes and padded into the bathroom.
    After spending a half hour in the shower, he stepped out and wrapped a white towel around his waist and examined his reflection. Damn, he looked bad. Tired. Really fucking tired. The scar on left shoulder from the bullet he had taken two years ago was finally beginning to fade, but the ache inside it had left seemed to be getting worse. On his left pectoral was a tattoo of the Navy SEAL Trident, a golden eagle clutching a U.S. Navy anchor, trident, and flintlock style pistol. The right side of his chest had small scars from some shrapnel he had caught a few months back. The tattoo on his right shoulder was simply a skull and bones.
    He ran his hand down his muscled chest and flat stomach. He felt as if he were thirty-five going on seventy.
    Walking back to the bedroom, he stopped at the bar and downed a shot of tequila. Flipping off the towel off and leaving it where it landed, he pulled back the covers and crawled in between the crisp, white sheets.
    Heaven.
    Letting out a groan of appreciation, he closed his eyes and slammed into sleep.

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    Maya Gonzalez glanced over the stock in the bar, getting ready to open for the day, and was certain she had everything she needed. The pool area was already packed, and more kids on Spring Break had arrived. Spring Break was both a blessing and a curse. She liked that the hotel was busy and she hauled in more tips, but she hated she had to put up with a bunch of drunks, as well as the sexual propositions the men—no, they were boys—liked to throw her way.
    She sighed, and lifted the keg to make sure it was full. It didn’t contain enough beer to last the day, but she wouldn’t have to change the barrel for a few hours.
    Looking down, she made sure her white tank top was tucked into her black shorts. She pulled her long, jet-black hair up into a pony tail, and checked her face in the reflection of the stainless steel container where the bottles of liquor were kept. Big brown eyes stared back, her skin smooth and also brown. She hadn’t bothered with any make-up. She would have liked to apply a little mascara and blush, but today was going to be a hard day’s work, and there wasn’t any sense in worrying about running mascara or blush touch-ups that may or may not need to be done. Smiling at herself, she smeared her lips with a balm/sun protectant.
    The alarm on her watch went off,