Solana stood by the hatch, silently begging the captain to release the door lock. She'd never felt anything like the toxic combination of fury and lust pounding through her veins and it made her head spin, threatening to drive all logic away. To combat the uneasy sensation, she concentrated on identifying the moment her life had imploded in the last twenty-four hours.

The holiday season had helped drag her from desperately poor to generally penniless. Without her pay from her last week at the Peppermint Stick and with no tips thanks to being stuck with one table of drunken snobs, she was still in the hole. Her bank account was overdrawn, and she was out of data on her pay-as-you go cell phone. On the ride to the airport this morning, her credit card had been declined, and she'd used her last twenty dollars to cover the cab fare. The money from this last-minute job would keep her going until she found something in LA.

Except that wasn't going to happen now.

The plane jerked as the ground crew placed the blocks under the wheels. "Finally."

How had she not recognized Jack Blackhorne for who he was at the club last night? He wasn't just a man with too much money; he was the man with all the money. Anyone not living under a rock knew Blackhorne & Caldwell and the company's sole owner. She never expected someone with his kind of fortune to slum it in an off the strip dive bar. Alfonso should have charged more for her services.

Unlike the evening before, Solana tried to play nice, accepted the smug bastard's orders, made him drinks with three ice cubes, not two or four, fluffed his pillows, ran up and down the aisle while his friend snored. She never saw the sleeping man wake, yet he still managed to drain three glasses of vodka. Pride firmly swallowed, she took every pain-in-the-ass demand Jack, no Mr. Blackhorne, produced.

With a background like his, including the tragic death of his parents in a plane crash, she'd expected Jack to take air safety seriously. It stunned her when he ignored the captain's orders to take a seat as they maneuvered through the turbulence. She was more shocked when she kissed him.

The door before her clicked and Solana cranked the handle, pushing the upper door open. Hot air rushed into the cabin, overtaking the cooler inside. With a tug of the cable knob, she released the stairs, kept twisting until they met the ground and locked the two doors in place. Purse and an oversized bag bearing the few personal items she cared to keep from her time in Vegas in hand, she sped down the stairs, not able to get off the plane fast enough.

Two limos sat at the foot of the stairs. Solana scooted past them, the asphalt hard against her ballet slipper shoes. By the time she reached the small terminal, perspiration was forming on her forehead in the unseasonably hot weather for the middle of January. Not bothering to stop, she flew through the mostly empty lobby full of leather couches and pushed out the other exit.

Back in the heat, she searched for a way off the property. Any other time she'd come through here, she'd simply arrange for a ride share to pick her up and take her to her abuela's house in east LA. Now she didn't have any money and would have to rely on public transportation. There had to be a bus around here somewhere.

The afternoon sun beat down on her as she hiked toward the main street, her hand searching the bottom of her purse for loose change. She wasn't sure she even had enough to pay for the bus ride. This private airport catered to the rich, and not many of those resorted to taking the bus home. A weather-beaten bench caught her eye, and she beelined for the ancient structure.

Once upon a time there may have been a bus schedule on the post by the bench, but the cracked and clouded glass covering the faded paper made any remnant of a timetable impossible to decipher. Solana inspected the white dollops on the worn wood and decided she'd stand rather than risk pigeon poop transfer onto her one good skirt. In hopes of scoring more jobs on these short luxury flights, she'd put on her best clothes this morning to impress the client.

Sweat trickled down the back of Solana's neck as she turned her face to the cloudless cornflower blue sky. Why did everything she touch turn to dust? She traced her finger along the lips she'd pressed against Jack's mouth, her insides heating up at the memory. His tall frame towering over her, blocking out the light and the dark, sturdy and solid, tempting her to touch. She'd lost her mind, practically tried to climb his frame when he'd stooped to her elevation. Then she'd slapped him. Like one of the dramatic characters on her abuela's telenovelas.

Fingers curled into a fist, she dug her nails into her palm to force away thoughts of Jack Blackhorne's firm abs against her chest. The body was fine, no doubt, and what she'd sampled before the turbulence tore them apart tasted sweet, but those parts didn't make up for the attitude of its owner.

A car horn blared, and Solana jumped. A black limo rolled to a stop in front of her and one of its dark tinted windows rolled down, revealing the face of the man she loathed. Jack leaned sideways in the backseat, eyes matching the colour of the sky twinkling. "Want a ride?"

Her body reacted to his deep baritone voice, reaching toward him, screaming yes, I'd like to ride you. Or craving the air conditioning wafting from the interior of the car. Solana wasn't sure which. "No."

"Could be a long wait for the bus."

"I have time."

"George, get the ladies' luggage, won't you?" The driver's side door opened and a short white-haired man in a black suit and matching driver's cap strolled around to the other side of the car.

Solana hitched her hand on her hip. "I'm not getting in that car with you."

"I won't bite." Jack bit his lip as if to prove himself wrong. "Unless you want me to."

Solana crossed her arms and frowned. George stood beside her, hand held out, offering to take her belongings.

"C'mon. I promise to stay on my side of the car. Draw a line down the middle and I won't so much as cross a finger over it." Jack traced a long finger along the black leather beside him and Solana shivered despite the heat. "I'll have you home in no time."

Solana looked down the deserted road. No bus in sight. No traffic. It could very well be hours before the bus arrived, and she was fading in this heat. By car, her abuela's house wasn't far. Could she last that long in the backseat with Jack? Could she trust herself?

"Fine." She passed over her tote to the chauffeur, who opened the door for her. Solana slid into the soft leather seat, the cool air inside the limo a relief after the oppressive heat. The door closed with a soft click, sealing her in with Jack.

"Drink?" He pointed to the small bar off to the side, a crystal decanter containing a golden liquid, matching glasses, and a collection of water bottles.

Saliva flooded Solana's mouth at the thought of a cool glass of water, but there was no way she was accepting anything else from this man. The ride was a necessity, water a luxury. "No, thank you."

The car bounced as George slammed the trunk shut. Jack picked up a bottle and twisted the top off. "Suit yourself." He brought the rim to his lips and tilted his head back as he took a deep drink. Solana had to look away, a pang of jealousy for the bottle jabbed at her abdomen.

George climbed into the front seat and shifted the car into gear, steering away from the curb. "Where to Ma'am?"

"1642 Fisher Street. It's off North Eastern Avenue."

Jack snickered beside her.

"Got something to say?"

"Lovely part of town."

She didn't miss the attitude in his voice. "I'll have you know my abuela worked two jobs to buy that home in cash when the bank wouldn't give her a loan."

"Abuela?"

"Grandmother in Spanish."

Jack's gaze dragged along her body and goosebumps not due to the air conditioning broke out on her skin. "Where are you from?"

She detested this question. As soon as anyone recognized her heritage, they always asked this, like her family had stolen across the border last week. "LA. Where are you from?"

"Born in LA. I meant your family. You don't look Spanish."

If he only knew how hard she struggled to eradicate her Hispanic connections, bleaching her dark hair, refusing to wear bright colours, never letting anyone know she spoke the language while in Las Vegas. She'd learned at a young age people make certain judgements about a person once they found out her Latin ancestry. "How am I supposed to look?"

Jack shrugged. "Not blonde."

The car turned a sharp corner, and Solana slid on the slippery leather. She grabbed the door handle to pull herself away from Jack. A familiar burning sensation ignited at the base of her neck at Jack's assumptions. "Guess I don't fit the mold."

"I suppose. I'm just—"

"What? Disappointed?"

Jack twisted to face her. "No. Definitely not disappointed."

His out-of-the-blue honest answer, paired with the intensity of his baby blue stare, took her off guard. Like they had back in the Peppermint Stick's stairwell. The sensation left her dizzy, like she'd had too much alcohol. She dropped her gaze to the water bottle in his hand.

"Now I see the Solana connection. But your last name is Wilde. Not very..."

"Latin?"

Jack watched her, and the tingle in her spine blazed to life. She was not about to spill her family tree to this man. She prepared for battle, but he nodded, then took another sip of water. Now it bothered her he didn't press the matter, like he didn't care enough to push. Solana clenched her fist, mad at the erratic emotions she had around this man. Then it hit her. "How do you know my last name?"

Jack screwed the top of the water bottle back on. "Alfonso and I had a little talk last night after you... left."

She could just imagine how that conversation went. Alfonso probably drooled. Jack stared at her and Solana had the distinct feeling he was waiting for a reaction. Determined to not give him anything he wanted, she concentrated on the passing landscape.

Sofia's Hair Salon, The Sunset Street Diner and other familiar landmarks sailed by as Solana stared out the window and a tightness she'd carried in her chest ever since she'd last left her abuela's home eased. Her return might not be triumphant, but the one thing Solana could count on in this life was the love of her grandmother. Ximena Moreno was grandmother, mother, mentor and friend all rolled into one tiny sixty-seven-year-old package that offered the best hugs. Authentic Tamales and Natilla cooling on the kitchen counter hopefully waited for her as well.

The landscape shifted from strip malls to square houses with covered porches overlooking patches of green lawns. Her abuela's terra cotta coloured roof came into view and a sense of giddiness crept into Solana's veins. She was home.

The car came to a stop and Solana watched as the elderly woman sitting on the porch sat up straight at the oddity in front of her house. Without a thought for Jack, Solana bolted from the car, crying her abuela's name.

"Mi Mina." Her abuela abandoned her chair and gingerly picked her way down the three steps of the porch. Solana's heart lurched at the slow movements of her grandmother and rushed to meet her. Warm hands grasped her face, soft lips kissed her cheeks and arms, still capable of the best hugs, wrapped around her.

Solana sank into the loving embrace. "I missed you."

"Welcome home."

Solana tore herself from the hug to study her abuela. A few more wrinkles framed her smiling mouth, and her usually flush skin lacked its normal luster. Most women her abuela's age had retirement on their horizons. Not her. To make extra money during the holidays, she'd picked up extra shifts at her job cleaning offices in downtown LA. "Are you alright? You look pale."

Ximena waved a hand between them. "Just a little tired. Nothing a strong cup of coffee can't fix." Her warm brown irises clouded with age skimmed Solana's face before catching at movement behind her. "And who's this?"

Only then did Solana remember Jack. She turned around to find him standing on the stone pathway splitting her grandmother's lawn in two, tote in one hand, a smirk on his lips. He looked like a fashion model in his dark grey suit, crisp white shirt, blue and grey striped tie, sunglasses perched on his dark perfectly coiffed hair.

Jack strode forward and lifted her grandmother's hand in his, bent and kissed it. "Hello Abuela, if I may call you that. I'm Jack."

A crimson blush bloomed across her grandmother's face. "Please call me Ximena. Nice to meet you, Jack."

"The pleasures all mine."

"My Heart and Sol, what a handsome gentleman you have here." Solana opened her mouth to correct her abuela, but didn't have the opportunity. "Won't you come in for some coffee, Jack? I have some freshly made Natilla cooling in the kitchen."

"Sorry Abuela, Jack can't stay." Solana yanked her bag from Jack's hand, leaving him free to go.

"Thank you, Ximena. I'd love a coffee. I didn't get one on the plane."

Hi all! D. L. Croisette here. Thanks for reading Black Hearted. 

This book is a stretch for my writing in many ways. Besides trying to redem this villainous Jack Blackhorne! 

I've wanted to write a main character with Hispanic heritage for a long time but was a little afraid, not having that background myself. So if you see anything out of place or off, please let me know so I can adjust. Appreciate it.

Oh, and in general how are we feeling about Solana? Yay or Nay?