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A darker note in his voice niggled at her. “Are you talking about yourself now?”
He shrugged, broad shoulders rippling the fabric of his fine suit.
Nuh-uh. She wasn’t giving up that easily. She’d trusted so much of her life to this man, only to find he’d misled her.
Now she needed something tangible, something honest from him to hold on to. Something to let her know if that honor and strength she’d perceived in him was real. “You said you didn’t want to break off our relationship. If that’s true, this would be a really good time to open up a little.”
Angling toward her, Tony’s knee pressed against hers, his eyes heating to molten dark. “Are you saying we’re good again?”
“I’m saying…” She cleared her throat that had suddenly gone cottony dry. “Maybe I could see my way clear to forgiving you if I knew more about you.”
He straightened, his eyes sharp. “What do you want to know?”
“Why Galveston?”
“Do you surf?”
What the hell? She watched the walls come up in his eyes. She could almost feel him distancing himself from her. “Tony, I’m not sure how sharing a Surf’s Up moment is going to make things all better here.”
“But have you ever been surfing?” He gestured, his hands riding imaginary waves. “The Atlantic doesn’t offer as wild a ride as the Pacific, but it gets the job done, especially in Spain. Something to do with the atmospheric pressure coming down from the UK. I still remember the swells tubing.” He curled his fingers around into the cresting circle of a wave.
“You’re a surfer?” She tried to merge the image of the sleek business shark with the vision of him carefree on a board. And instead an image emerged of his abandon when making love. Her breasts tingled and tightened, awash in the sensation of sea spray and Tony all over her skin.
“I’ve always been fascinated with waves.”
“Even when you were in San Rinaldo.” The picture of him began to make more sense. “It’s an island country, right?”
She’d always thought the nautical art on his walls was tied into his shipping empire. Now she realized the affinity for such pieces came from living on an island. So much about him made sense.
His surfing hand soared to rest on the gold-flecked globe beside the sofa. Was it her imagination or was the gloss dimmer over the coast of Spain? As if he’d rubbed his finger along that area more often, taking away the sheen over time.
He spun the globe. “I thought you didn’t know much about the Medinas.”
“I researched you on Google on my phone while we were driving over.” Concrete info had been sparse compared to all the crazy gossip floating about, but there were some basics. Three sons. A monarch father. A mother who’d been killed as they were escaping. Her heart squeezed thinking of him losing a parent so young, not much older than Kolby.
She pulled a faltering smile. “There weren’t any surfer pictures among the few images that popped up.”
Only a couple of grainy formal family portraits of three young boys with their parents, everyone happy. Some earlier photos of King Enrique looking infinitely regal.
“We scrubbed most pictures after we escaped and regrouped.” His lighthearted smile contrasted with the darker hue deepening his eyes. “The internet wasn’t active in those days.”
The extent of his rebuilding shook her to her shoes. She’d thought she had it rough leaving Louisiana after her husband’s arrest and death. How tragic to have your past wiped away. The enormity of what had happened to his family, of how he’d lived since then, threatened to overwhelm her.
How could she not ache over all he’d been through? “I saw that your mother died when I read up on your past. I’m so sorry.”
He waved away her sympathy. “When we got to…where my father lives now, things were isolated. But at least we still had the ocean. Out on the waves, I could forget about everything else.”
Plowing a hand through his hair, he stared just past her, obviously locked in some deep memories. She sensed she was close, so close to the something she needed to reassure her that placing herself and her son in his care would be wise, even if there weren’t gossip seekers sifting through her trash.
She rested her hand on his arm. “What are you thinking?”
“I thought you might like to learn next spring. Unless you’re already a pro.”
“Not hardly.” Spring was a long way off, a huge commitment she wasn’t anywhere near ready to make to anyone. The thought of climbing on a wave made her stomach knot almost as much as being together that long. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”
“Scared?” He skimmed his knuckles over her collarbone, and just that fast the sea-spray feel tingled through her again.
“Hell, yes. Scared of getting hurt.”
His hand stilled just above her thumping heart. Want crackled in the air. Hers? Or his? She wasn’t sure. Probably equal measures from both of them. That had never been in question. And too easily he could draw her in again. Learning more about him wasn’t wise after all, not tonight.
She pulled away, her arms jerky, her whole body out of whack. She needed Tony’s lightness now. Forget about serious peeks into each other’s vulnerable pasts. “No surfing for me. Ever try taking care of a toddler with a broken leg?”
“When did you break your leg?” His eyes narrowed. “Did he hurt you? Your husband?”
How had Tony made that leap so quickly?
“Nolan was a crook and a jerk, but he never raised a hand to me.” She shivered, not liking the new direction their conversation had taken at all. This was supposed to teach her more about him. Not the other way around. “Do we have to drag more baggage into this?”
“If it’s true.”
“I told you. He didn’t abuse me.” Not physically. “Having a criminal for a husband is no picnic. Knowing I missed the signs…Wondering if I let myself be blind to it because I enjoyed the lifestyle…I don’t even know where to start in answering those questions for myself.”
She slumped, suddenly exhausted, any residual adrenaline fizzling out. Her head fell back.
“Knowing you as I do, I find it difficult to believe you would ever choose the easy path.” Tony thumbed just below her eyes where undoubtedly dark circles were all but tattooed on her face. “It’s been a long day. You should get some rest. If you want, I’ll tuck you in,” he said with a playful wink.
She found the old Tony much easier to deal with than the new. “You’re teasing, of course.”
“Maybe…” And just that fast the light in his eyes flamed hotter, intense. “Shanny, I would hold you all night if you would let me. I would make sure no one dared threaten you or your son again.”
And she wanted to let him do just that. But she’d allowed herself to depend on a man before… “If you hold me, we both know I won’t get any rest, and while I’ll have pleasure tonight, I’ll be sorry tomorrow. Don’t you think we have enough wrong between us right now without adding another regret to the mix?”
“Okay….” Tony gave her shoulder a final squeeze and stood. “I’ll back off.”
Shannon pushed to her feet alongside him, her hands fisted at her sides to keep from reaching for him. “I’m still mad over being kept in the dark, but I appreciate all the damage control.”
“I owe you that much and more.” He kissed her lightly on the lips without touching her anywhere else, lingering long enough to remind her of the reasons they clicked. Her breath hitched and it was all she could do not to haul him in closer for a firmer, deeper connection.
Pulling back, he started toward the door.
“Tony?” Was that husky voice really hers?
He glanced over his shoulder. So easily she could take the physical comfort waiting only a few feet away in his arms. But she had to keep her head clear. She had to hold strong to carve out an independent life for her and her son and that meant drawing clear boundaries.
“Just because I might be able to forgive you doesn’t mean you’re welcome in my bed again.”
Chapter 4
She wasn’t in her own bed.
Shannon wrestled with the tenacious grip of her shadowy nightmare, tough as hell to do when she couldn’t figure out where she was. The ticking grandfather clock, the feel of the silky blanket around her, none of it was familiar. And then a hint of sandalwood scent teased her nose a second before…
“Hey.” Tony’s voice rumbled through the dark. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
Her heart jumped. She bolted upright, the cashmere afghan twisting around her legs and waist. Blinking fast, she struggled to orient herself to the surroundings so different from her apartment, but the world blurred in front of her from the dark and her own crummy eyesight. Shannon pressed her hands to the cushiony softness of a sofa and everything came rushing back. She was at Tony’s, in the sitting room outside where Kolby slept.
“It’s okay,” Tony continued to chant, squeezing her shoulder in his broad hand as he crouched beside the couch.
Swinging her feet to the ground, she gathered the haunting remnants of her nightmare. Shadows smoked through her mind, blending into a darker mass of memories from the night Nolan died, except Tony’s face superimposed itself over that of her dead husband.
Nausea burned her throat. She swallowed back the bite of bile and the horror of her dream. “Sorry, if I woke you.” Oh, God, her son. “Is Kolby all right?”
“Sleeping soundly.”
“Thank goodness. I wouldn’t want to frighten him.” She took in Tony’s mussed hair and hastily hauled on jeans. The top button was open and his chest was bare. Gulp. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” He passed her glasses to her.
As she slid them on, his tattoo came into focus, a nautical compass on his arm. Looking closer she realized his hair was wet. She didn’t want to think about him in the shower, a tiled spa cubicle they’d shared more than once. “It’s been a tough night all around.”
“Want to talk about what woke you up?”
“Not really.” Not ever. To anyone. “I think my fear for Kolby ran wild in my sleep. Dreams are supposed to help work out problems, but sometimes, it seems they only make everything scarier.”
“Ah, damn, Shanny, I’m sorry for this whole mess.” He sat on the sofa and slid an arm around her shoulders.
She stiffened, then decided to hell with it all and leaned back against the hard wall of chest. With the nightmare so fresh in her mind, she couldn’t scavenge the will to pull away. His arms banded around her in an instant and her head tucked under his chin. Somehow it was easier to accept this comfort when she didn’t have to look in his eyes. She’d been alone with her bad dreams for so long. Was it wrong to take just a second’s comfort from his arms roped so thick with muscles nothing could break through to her? She would be strong again in a minute.
The grandfather clock ticked away minutes as she stared at his hands linked over her stomach—at the lighter band of skin where his watch usually rested. “Thanks for coming in to check on us, especially so late.”
“It can be disconcerting waking in an unfamiliar place alone.” His voice vibrated against her back, only her thin nightshirt between them and his bare chest.
Another whiff of his freshly showered scent teased her nose with memories of steam-slicked bodies.
“I’ve been here at least a dozen times, but never in this room. It’s a big house.” They’d met five months ago, started dating two months later…had starting sleeping together four weeks ago. “Strange to think we’ve shared the shower, but I still haven’t seen all of your home.”
“We tended to get distracted once our feet hit the steps,” he said drily.
True enough. They’d stayed downstairs on early dinner dates here, but once they’d ventured upstairs…they’d always headed straight for his suite.
“That first time together—” Shannon remembered was after an opera when her senses had been on overload and her hormones on hyperdrive from holding back “—I was scared to death.”
The admission tumbled out before she could think, but somehow it seemed easier to share such vulnerabilities in the dark.
His muscles flexed against her, the bristle of hair on his arms teasing goose bumps along her skin. “The last thing I ever want to do is frighten you.”
“It wasn’t your fault. That night was a big leap of faith for me.” The need to make him understand pushed past walls she’d built around herself. “Being with you then, it was my first time since Nolan.”
He went completely still, not even breathing for four ticks of the clock before she felt his neck move with a swallow against her temple. “No one?”
“No one.” Not only had Tony been her sole lover since Nolan, he’d been her second lover ever.
Her track record for picking men with secrets sucked.
His gusty sigh ruffled her hair. “I wish you would have told me.”
“What would that have changed?”
“I would have been more…careful.”
The frenzy of their first time stormed her mind with a barrage of images…their clothes fluttering to carpet the stairs on their way up. By the top of the steps they were naked, moonlight bathing his olive skin and casting shadows along the cut of muscles. Kissing against the wall soon had her legs wrapped around his waist and he was inside her. That one thrust had unfurled the tension into shimmering sensations and before the orgasm finished tingling all the way to the roots of her hair, he’d carried her to his room, her legs still around him. Again, she’d found release in bed with him, then a languid, leisurely completion while showering together.
Just remembering, an ache started low, throbbing between her legs. “You were great that night, and you know it.” She swatted his hand lightly. “Now wipe the arrogant grin off your face.”
“You can’t see me.” His voice sounded somber enough.
“Am I right, though?”
“Look at me and see.”
She turned around and dared to peer up at him for the first time since he’d settled on the couch behind her. Her intense memories of that evening found an echo in his serious eyes far more moving than any smile.
Right now, it was hard to remember they weren’t a couple anymore. “Telling you then would have made the event too serious.”
Too important.
His offer to “help” her financially still loomed unresolved between them, stinging her even more than last weekend after the enormous secret he’d kept from her. Why couldn’t they be two ordinary people who met at the park outside her apartment complex? What would it have been like to get to know Tony on neutral, normal ground? Would she have been able to see past the pain of her marriage?
She would never know.
“Shannon.” His voice came out hoarse and hungry. “Are you okay to go back to sleep now? Because I need to leave.”
His words splashed a chill over her heated thoughts. “Of course, you must have a lot to take care of with your family.”
“You misunderstand. I need to leave, because you’re killing me here with how much I’ve hurt you. And as if that wasn’t enough to bring me to my knees, every time you move your head, the feel of your hair against my chest just about sends me over the edge.” His eyes burned with a coal-hot determination. “I’ll be damned before I do anything to break your trust again.”
Before she could unscramble her thoughts, he slid his arms from her and ducked out the door as silently as he’d arrived. Colder than ever without the heat of Tony all around her, she hugged the blanket closer.
No worries about any more nightmares, because she was more than certain she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.
* * *
By morning, Tony hadn’t bothered turning down the covers on his bed. After leaving Shannon’s room, he’d spent most of the night conferring with his lawyer and a security firm. Working himself into the ground to distract himself from how much he hurt from wanting her.
With a little luck and maneuvering, he could extend his week with her into two weeks. But bottom line, he would ensure her safety.
At five, he’d caught a catnap on the library sofa, jolting awake when Vernon called him from the front gate. He’d buzzed the retired sea captain through and rounded up breakfast.
His old friend deserved some answers.
Choosing a less formal dining area outside, he sat at the oval table on the veranda shaded by a lemon tree, Vernon beside him with a plate full of churros. Tony thumbed the edge of the hand-painted stoneware plate—a set he’d picked up from a local craftsman to support the dying art of the region.
Today of all days, he didn’t want to think overlong on why he still ate his same childhood breakfast—deep-fried strips of potato dough. His mother had always poured a thick rich espresso for herself and mugs of hot chocolate for her three sons, an informal ritual in their centuries-old castle that he now knew was anything but ordinary.
Vernon eyed him over the rim of his coffee cup. “So it’s all true, what they’re saying in the papers and on the internet?”
Absurd headlines scrolled through his memory, alongside reports that had been right on the money. “My brother’s not a Tibetan monk, but the general gist of that first report from the Global Intruder is correct.”
“You’re a prince.” He scrubbed a hand over his dropped jaw. “Well, hot damn. Always knew there was something special about you, boy.”
He preferred to think anything “special” about him came from hard work rather than a genetic lottery win. “I hope you understand it wasn’t my place to share the details with you.”
“You have brothers and a father.” He stirred a hefty dollop of milk into his coffee, clinking the spoon against the edges of the stoneware mug. “I get that you need to consider their privacy, as well.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
He wished Shannon could see as much. He’d hoped bringing her here would remind her of all that had been good between them. Instead those memories had only come back to bite him on the ass when she’d told him that he was her first since her husband died. The revelation still sucker punched the air from his gut.
Where did they go from there? Hell if he knew, but at least he had more time to find out. Soon enough he would have her in his private jet that waited fueled and ready a mile away.
The older man set down his mug. “I respect that you gotta be your own man.”
“Thank you again.” He’d expected Vernon to be angry over the secrecy, had even been concerned over losing his friendship.
Vernon’s respect meant a lot to him, as well as his advice. From day one when Tony had turned in his sparse job application, Vernon had treated him like a son, showing him the ropes. They had a lot of history. And just like fourteen years ago, he offered unconditional acceptance now.
His mentor leaned forward on one elbow. “What does your family have to say about all of this?”
“I’ve only spoken with my middle brother.” He pinched off a piece of a churro drizzled with warm honey. Popping it into his mouth, he chewed and tried not think of how much of his past stayed imprinted on him.
“According to the papers, that would be Duarte. Right?” When Tony nodded, Vernon continued, “Any idea how the story broke after so many years?”
And wasn’t that the million-dollar question? He, his brothers and their lawyers were no closer to the answer on that one today than they’d been last night. “Duarte doesn’t have any answers yet, other than some photo-journalist caught him in a snapshot and managed to track down details. Which is damn strange. None of us look the same since we left San Rinaldo as kids.”
“And there are no other pictures of you in the interim?”
“Only a few stray shots after I became Tony. Carlos’s face has shown up in a couple of professional magazines.” But the image was so posed and sterile, Tony wasn’t sure he would recognize his own sibling on the street. For the best.
His father always insisted photos would provide dangerous links, as if he’d been preparing them from the beginning to split up. Or preparing them for his death.
Not the normal way for a kid to live, but they weren’t a regular family. He’d grown accustomed to it eventually…until it almost seemed normal. Until he was faced with a regular person’s life, like Shannon’s treasured photos of her son.
He broke off another inch of a churro. His hand slowed halfway to his mouth as he got that feeling of “being watched.” He checked right fast—
Kolby stood in the open doorway, blanket trailing from his fist.
Uh, okay. So now what? He’d only met the child a few times before last night and none had gone particularly well. Tony had chalked it up to Kolby being shy around strangers or clingy. Judging by the thrust of his little jaw and frown now, there was no mistaking it. The boy didn’t like him.
That needed to change. “Hey, kiddo. Where’s your mom?”
Kolby didn’t budge. “Still sleepin’.”
Breaking the ice, Vernon tugged out a chair. “Wanna have a seat and join us?”
Never taking his eyes off Tony, Kolby padded across the tile patio and scrambled up to sit on his knees. Silently, he simply blinked and stared with wide blue-gray eyes just like Shannon’s, his blond hair spiking every which way.
Vernon wiped his mouth, tossed his linen napkin on the plate and stood. “Thanks for the chow. I need to check on business. No need to see me out.”
As his old friend deserted ship, unease crawled around inside Tony’s gut. His experience with children was nonexistent, even when he’d been a kid himself. He and his brothers had been tutored on the island. They’d been each other’s only playmates.
The island fortress had been staffed with security guards, not the mall cop sort, but more like a small deployed military unit. Cleaning staff, tutors, the chef and groundskeepers were all from San Rinaldo, older supporters of his father who’d lost their families in the coup. They shared a firm bond of loyalty, and a deep-seated need for a safe haven.
Working on the shrimp boat had felt like a vacation, with the wide open spaces and no boundaries. Most of all he enjoyed the people who didn’t wear the imprint of painful loss in their eyes.
But still, there weren’t any three-year-olds on the shrimp boat.
What did kids need? “Are you hungry?”
“Some of that.” Kolby pointed to Tony’s plate of churros. “With peanut bubber.”
Grateful for action instead of awkward silence, he shoved to his feet. “Peanut butter it is then. Follow me.”
Once he figured out where to look. He’d quit cooking for himself about ten years ago and the few years he had, he wasn’t whipping up kiddie cuisine.
About seven minutes later he unearthed a jar from the cavernous pantry and smeared a messy trail down a churro before chunking the spoon in the sink.
Kolby pointed to the lid on the granite countertop. “We don’t waste.”
“Right.” Tony twisted the lid on tight. Thinking of Shannon pinching pennies on peanut butter, for crying out loud, he wanted to buy them a lifetime supply.
As he started to pass the plate to Kolby, a stray thought broadsided him. Hell. Was the kid allergic to peanuts? He hadn’t even thought to ask. Kolby reached. Tony swallowed another curse.
“Let’s wait for your mom.”
“Wait for me why?” Her softly melodic voice drifted over his shoulder from across the kitchen.
He glanced back and his heart kicked against his ribs. They’d slept together over the past month but never actually slept. And never through the night.
Damn, she made jeans look good, the washed pale fabric clinging to her long legs. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back, still damp from a shower. He remembered well the silky glide of it through his fingers…and so not something he should be thinking about with her son watching.
Tony held up the plate of churros. “Can he eat peanut butter?”
“He’s never tried it that way before, but I’m sure he’ll like it.” She slipped the dish from his grip. “Although, I’m not so certain that breakable stoneware is the best choice for a three-year-old.”