by Caro LaFever
“He’s not around, but I’m here.” A wet towel hovered in front of her face before it wiped her mouth. “Better?”
It was the same question he’d asked after she’d sobbed all over him outside. The heat of worthless embarrassment rose in her cheeks. Closing her eyes again, she wished she were anywhere else. “I want to die.”
“Not the princesa I know. You’re too cussed to surrender.” The towel disappeared, to be replaced by a glass of water. “Drink.”
After gulping down most of what was offered, she did feel slightly better. Slightly.
“Okay, time to get up, I think.” Strong hands slid under her arms to lift her into his grasp once more. Her head lolled onto his shoulder, and she snuffled into his chest. He wore the same T-shirt she’d cried on, the same salty, sweaty one.
Yet, the scent of him settled her stomach, surprising her.
In a few blurred moments, she found herself being placed on the bed she’d chosen earlier. Opening her eyes, she saw him hovering above her. His hand drifted across her brow, pushing her hair away from her face with a gentle touch. His expression was filled with concern as well as affection. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Risa frowned. Affection? She didn’t want affection from this man. The memory of her anger reared up, fighting past the fog of alcohol. What she wanted from this man was nothing. “Go away. I don’t need you.”
Sighing, he shifted back. “Sleep now, and we’ll talk in the morning.”
“I don’t want to talk to you, either.” She rolled over, burying her nose in the soft pillow, trying to destroy the scent of him still lingering in her nostrils. “Ever again.”
Her muffled last words apparently didn’t make it past the pillow. He didn’t move. With all her might, she tried to summon the energy to tell him to get out of her bedroom. The haze of her anger and pain and humiliation was too great, though.
She sank into a dreamless sleep.
“Feeling better this morning?”
If there was one thing Risa could safely predict about the caveman jerk, it was that his voice would never be chirpy.
Her prediction would have been inaccurate.
She gave him her best glare.
Which bounced off his smiling face like a boomerang. “Want some coffee?”
She did. Her dry, sour mouth instantly watered with the desire for a shot of caffeine.
“I can see that’s a yes.” His smile widened, and he walked to the sit-down table tucked into a nook of the kitchen. Pulling out a high-backed chair, he waved at her. “Sit, and I’ll get you my specialty.”
She shouldn’t let him do this. Skate away from his basic meanness by acting the part of a chirpy, welcoming host. But her legs were still wobbly, and her mouth demanded the coffee, so what the hell. She stomped to the offered chair and slumped into its soft cushion.
“One café con leche coming up.” Giving her another smile, he sauntered over to an impressive espresso machine. He wore the usual uniform of T-shirt and gym shorts, and on his feet he had on another pair of what looked suspiciously like a copy of the Versace flip-flops he’d left behind when he’d stolen his very first kiss.
Her gaze narrowed.
There’d be no more kisses for this guy.
He moved, shifting his weight onto his good leg, and her focus went to the scars on the back of his knee. Much to her disgust, it then zipped right up his thighs to land on his fantastic ass.
“Asshole,” she muttered, reminding herself.
“What?” Swiveling, he looked at her, his expression so pleasant, if she didn’t know better, she’d be fooled into thinking he was a nice guy.
She should nail him as she’d done yesterday, except the smell of coffee was too tempting to endanger with a curse at the maker. “Coffee.”
“Right.” He turned back to the machine. The whirr of the blender mixed with the splash of cream.
Closing her eyes, she took in the rich scent of the beans. A cool breeze wafted from the open door leading to the terrace. Jiggs woofed outside, a happy hound sound that lifted her heart. If this man hadn’t been so cruel, she’d have thought she’d found paradise right here on earth.
“Here.” The smell of coffee filled her nostrils and she opened her eyes.
His hand still lingered on the white china cup. His fingers were long and blunt. Resembling him. Tall, yet sturdy, like the tree trunk he’d built his home in. For a second, her yearning for his strength and safety overwhelmed her anger.
But only for a second.
“Drink,” he coaxed, his voice tender around the edges.
Risa glanced over to meet an intense stare, as if he were determined to cater to her every wish. “What’s up with you?”
“Drink,” he said again. “You’ll feel better.”
Shrugging him and his intensity off, she grabbed the cup and sipped. The froth coated her lips, and she hummed when the sweet caramel taste slid onto her tongue.
“Good, huh?”
She ignored him some more, focusing instead on the perfect start to a day when suffering a hangover.
“Are you hungry?” He moved away. She could tell by the lack of warmth surrounding her. “I was thinking of making my mother’s famous French toast.”
Her love for French toast, or pancakes, or anything sweet in the morning was a family secret. But there was no way her mom or daddy had conveyed this information to the caveman. So she ignored him some more.
“She got the recipe from my yaya.”
Staring into the cup as she didn’t want to show him any interest, she still couldn’t help the words leaping from her mouth or the look his way. “Who or what is a yaya?”
He stood at the counter, his attention on the glass bowl he was cracking eggs into. At her question, he glanced at her, a pleased expression crossing his face. As though he truly was happy she was interested. “Yaya means grandmother.”
He had a grandmother. And two brothers. Although he’d been more than mean to her, he was a human being who had a family. The tight spot in the middle of her chest, that had constricted into a knot when she’d found out about the generator, eased.“Is she alive?”
“Yeah.” A quick grin, a flash of white teeth, a sparkle in his eyes, told her he loved his grandmother. “More alive than most people.”
“Including you?” she shot out, because she didn’t like the affection growing inside her.
A frown descended, and he returned his attention to the eggs.
A silence, cool and taut, fell.
Jiggs barreled into the room, a small furry distraction designed to bring harmony to any situation. He woofed with excitement, and danced across the tiles to sit right by his owner.
“No, no,” Riq said, his smile returning. “You’re not getting French toast, boy. It would make you sick.”
She hated this man, she really did. Except she couldn’t help but soften every time she saw him interact with his dog. There was so much love in his eyes and in his voice. It made it all the harder to accept how awful he’d been to her for most of their acquaintance. Now that the fog of impossible dreams had swished from her mind, Risa saw how foolish she’d been to think the sex they’d had was anything other than getting off for him. Not making love as she’d believed when she’d started to weave her stupid dreams around this man.
With a grunt of disgust at herself, she sipped on her coffee.
“I’m using bread my yaya baked for me right before I came here.” He’d returned to pleasant, as if it would help his cause. “It’s not fresh enough to eat plain, but with eggs soaking into it, and honey, it’s going to be great.”
“Whatever you say.” Her words were drier than dry.
This time, he ignored her. With the efficiency of movement she’d come to expect from him, he slid a half-dozen slices of bread onto a sizzling grill, and fed his dog, as well. A pot of honey and a plate of butter landed on the table next to her elbow. And not too much later, a plate filled with heated French toast was
put right in front of her.
“Silverware.” His expression of boyish eagerness turned to self-aggravation.
The unwanted affection bloomed inside her. Risa stuffed it away and gave him a glance of reproach.
“Be right back.” The words were contrite.
This was not the caveman.
This was not the jerk she knew.
“Who has taken over your body?” She ladled on a ton of sweetness to the question. “An alien? A robot?”
A look of astonishment crossed his face, and then, amusement followed. “I thought you wanted me to be nice to you.”
“No.” Looking down at the meal he’d made for her, she pulled out the truth. “I want you to be real with me.”
Another silence fell, this one filled with only the sounds of a hungry dog wolfing down his food.
“Here.” A knife and fork landed on the table by her fingers. But unlike the shiny silver pieces her mom had chosen for their private parties, these had a black satin finish that made them appear as though they were ancient luxuries passed down by Spanish kings. “And here’s a napkin.”
The napkin wasn’t paper like she was used to either. Not for a normal breakfast. It was a creamy linen, as if she were at a fancy party.
She frowned at him. “Don’t tell me you use these for every day.”
Another surprised look covered his face. “Does it matter?”
No, it didn’t. Nothing about him mattered. The frown she gave him turned to a scowl.
“Guess not.” Instead of snarling back at her as he usually did, he gave her a serene smile.
Her stomach growled softly, with hunger this time rather than sickness. A flush of embarrassment rose inside, something she wasn’t used to and didn’t appreciate. Something she seemed to always be doing around this jerk.
He chuckled. “Eat.”
So she did. The bread was chewy and nutty, filled with eggy tastes and the sweetness of honey. Before she could stop herself, she moaned in delight.
“Ah. You like it.”
Chewing slowly, she swallowed. “I like it, but I don’t like you. And I never will again.”
A third silence fell, this one heavy and hushed.
Trying to ignore the sliver of guilt swimming through her, she punched another fork filled with food into her mouth.
With a swiftness she always found amazing for such a big man, he moved to the other side of the table and sat. Facing her, his expression grew stern. “Listen to me.”
“I don’t have to.” She took a sip of the cooling coffee. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Risa, you—”
“I figure we’ll be stuck here together for another week, but this house is large enough that we should be able to stay away from each other for most of the time.”
At her pronouncement, he slid down in his seat, his face growing stoic.
“Then, I’ll get out of your hair, and you’ll never have to see me anymore.” This time, when she swallowed another tasty piece of French toast, there was a hard knot going down her throat as well.
Because for all the times he’d been mean to her, he’d also been sweet. In a rough sort of way, he’d taken care of her more than once. More than twice. Although those memories had been submerged yesterday when she’d found out about his betrayal and lies, they still were there, clinging to the back of her mind.
“I’m sorry.”
The tough words drifted across the table, flinty and hard. And truthful.
She glanced up and met two brilliant-blue eyes. No mist. No obstruction. No hint of sarcasm or ridicule.
“I have no excuse for not telling you about the generator and trying to make you as comfortable as possible.” He grimaced, a wry look that made her affection for him bloom once more. “If my mimi and yaya knew what I’d done, they’d box my ears.”
“Mimi?”
“Mother.” He kept his gaze trained on her, letting her see more than she’d ever seen before. “If they could, they’d bend me over their knee.”
The image of this big man being paddled by his mother and grandmother brought a faint smile to her mouth.
“Hey.” He leaned forward, his boyish eagerness returning. “I got a smile.”
“So what?.” Her focus dropped back to her disappearing food because he was too tempting. She wasn’t willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not anymore.
“Tell me about your plans and ideas for the perfumery.” His voice was soft, like a lulling tune drawing her in. “I’m ready to listen.”
Chapter 27
She jerked her head up, her Marine-blue eyes widening. “What did you say?”
The shadows under those eyes and the droop of her lids cut through Riq like a sharp sword. Not that he’d been the one to pour too much wine down her throat, but he was guilty nevertheless. Guilty for hurting her and guilty for making her so miserable she had to drown her sorrows in one of the many bottles of fine French wine he’d had shipped over from the mainland.
He owed her.
And Enrique de Molina always paid his debts.
“The business plan. The ideas for Migneault Perfumery.”
Her blonde brows furrowed. “I told you. I don’t want you involved—”
“I charge, at a minimum, a hundred K for basic investment advice.” He kept his gaze firm on hers. “I’m willing to go through your ideas and build a business plan for free. One that you can sell to other investors. Is your pride going to keep you from taking this deal?”
Her pretty mouth pursed and she hesitated. He could practically see the wheels turning inside her head. Waiting had never been his strongest suit, yet in this situation, he’d do it.
He owed her.
“I’ll still hate you.” A token glare got thrown his way, but he knew he’d won a foothold by the sudden spark of interest in her eyes.
“That’s fine.” Easing himself out of his seat, he went back to the espresso machine. Now that he had broken through to her, he could relax enough to have his coffee and eat breakfast. Until now, he’d been too on edge, too concerned about whether or not he could convince her to let him make amends.
Last night, after he’d pulled the covers over her, he’d sat on the bed and stared at her for a long time. Up to that moment, he’d been distracted by the long, tan legs the short robe did nothing to conceal, and the way the cloth draped across her breasts and shoulders. The robe had been something his mimi had given him and he’d forgotten he had it. But Risa was nothing if not resourceful.
He’d learned that during the course of the last few days.
She looked nothing like a woman as she slept, though. No, she was like the little girl he’d imagined before. The soft tendrils of blonde hair strewn across the pillow matched the delicate lashes on her cheeks. She slept with her mouth slightly open, and the whisper of a snore had made him smile.
Something dark and deep, wide and vast, had fallen into him. Like a gift from the gods, a precious, tender feeling he didn’t want to define. The fact that it stuck on his soul like a burr made him rise and go to his own bed. No longer hungry, no longer righteous. He’d spent the rest of the night tossing and turning.
And planning.
If he had nothing else, he had his honor. His father had taught him from an early age that a man’s honor was his everything. Sì, a man could be stupid or angry or a fool, but if he acted honorably, then he deserved respect. After Chief Galtero and the Marines got him, honor was imprinted on his soul.
So the fact he hadn’t acted honorably with the princesa meant he had to make amends.
“I don’t want your money,” she cut into his guilty thoughts.
“That’s not on offer.” Turning, he sipped his coffee before continuing. “My brain and advice are.”
She frowned once more, dropping her fork on the empty plate. “You’ll be honest with me if the ideas don’t work? You’re not just playing a game with me again?”
“No games. Not anymore.” He grabbed his
plate filled with French toast and returned to the table. “I’ll tell you straight if I think it won’t work.”
“Um. Well. Maybe.”
It was enough to start with. “Why don’t you go get dressed, and we can meet on the deck in an hour.”
“The deck?” She peered around, as if she’d missed something.
“You haven’t had a tour of my house, have you?”
A sudden urge to divulge, to declare, ran through him. For the entire time he’d owned his island, he’d always planned on bringing over Charlie or other vet buddies. And of course, women. But he’d never done it. For the first time, he realized why. There’d never been anyone he wanted here—perusing his choices, commenting on his home, making judgments about what it meant to him. What it revealed about him.
Not until this moment.
Not until this woman.
It struck him. The deeper reason for not wanting her in his home. More than punishing her for invading his island and being a pretty princesa who needed a lesson. He hadn’t wanted to show himself, not to her. Not to anyone.
But now he did. Now with her, he did.
The admission, if only to himself, stunned him. Yet, it was true. And after all, he owed her. “How about we take a tour first, so you know what’s here and what’s available for your use. Mi casa es tu casa, right?”
A glint of laughter lit her eyes. “I guess.”
“Then we’ll go over your business plan.” Biting into the honeyed toast, he hummed. The faint comfort of his yaya’s bread went through him. It wasn’t exactly a benediction for his sins, but he did feel better than he had through the course of last night.
“As you’ve commented before,” she fiddled with the end of her fork, “I don’t really have a business plan. Only a few ideas.”
“Then that’s where we’ll start.” Taking a chance, he reached across the table and caught her hand in his. There were calluses on her fingers, and a billow of guilt rushed into him again. He’d put this pretty creature to work like she was a servant.
He had so much to make up to her.
To his surprise, she didn’t fight him or tug away. Her hand lay in his grasp, soft and tough at the same time.