Miguel had taken less than two steps into the beach house before the provocative scent that was uniquely Allegra’s teased his senses. His angry gaze scanned the sala and found her sitting on the sofa, head bowed.

This time seeing her wasn’t a trick of his imagination. This time the fragrance and the woman were real.

This time retribution was in his grasp.

Though he’d known she was finally coming back, his heart gave a sharp, painful kick that was at odds with his fury. She’d broken through his defenses and made him care. She’d won his trust and his heart and then made him regret it—in the worst possible way…

For as long as Janette Kenny can remember, plots and characters have taken up residence in her head. Her parents, both voracious readers, read her the classics when she was a child. That gave birth to a deep love for literature, and allowed her to travel to exotic locales—those found between the covers of books. Janette’s artist mother encouraged her yen to write. As an adolescent she began creating cartoons featuring her dad as the hero, with plots that focused on the misadventures on their family farm, and she stuffed them in the nightly newspaper for him to find. To her frustration, her sketches paled in comparison with her captions.

Her first real writing began with fan fiction, taking favourite TV shows and writing episodes and endings she loved—happily ever after, of course. In her junior year of high school she told her literature teacher she intended to write for a living one day. His advice? Pursue the dream, but don’t quit the day-job.

Though she dabbled with articles, she didn’t fully embrace her dream to write novels until years later, when she was a busy cosmetologist making a name for herself in her own salon. That was when she decided to write the type of stories she’d been reading—romances.

Once the writing bug bit, an incurable passion consumed her to create stories and people them. Still, it was seven more years and that many novels before she saw her first historical romance published. Now that she’s also writing contemporary romances for Mills & Boon, she finally knows that a full-time career in writing is closer to reality.

Janette shares her home and her free time with a chowshepherd mix pup she rescued from the pound, who aspires to be a lap dog. She invites you to visit her website at www.jankenny.com. She loves to hear from readers—e-mail her at janette@jankenny.com

PROUD REVENGE, PASSIONATE WEDLOCK

BY

JANETTE KENNY

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CHAPTER ONE

ALLEGRA got a white-knuckled grip on the knob and forced her hand to open the door on the past she’d dreaded visiting again. Until one month ago, she’d remembered nothing of the previous five months.

Much of it was still shrouded in shadow. But the memories that were clear nearly killed her.

Her precious baby was dead. The husband she’d loved beyond words hadn’t inquired about her health since the accident.

It was as if she’d died that day. God knows she’d wished she had after she’d realized she was to blame for the accident.

“Miguel doesn’t deserve you,” her uncle had told her more times than she could recall. “Divorce him.”

The thought of dissolving her marriage sickened her, but she couldn’t move forward with her life if she was bound in an estranged marriage. No, she needed closure.

She had to come to grips with her daughter’s death. She had to sever all ties to the life that had held such promise in Cancún. And she had to do it here where it had begun.

Allegra drew in a shaky breath and stepped into the beach house where her love with Miguel had begun. She’d steeled herself to be greeted with an onslaught of cherished and troubled memories, but she was totally unprepared to cope with this soft whispering sense that she’d just come home after a long, arduous journey.

The rightness of being here played over and over in her mind as she stood on the threshold a moment and tried to slow her racing heart. It was useless, for her nerves were tied in tight apprehensive knots.

Run, her mind screamed. Run back to England and the promise of a safe, quiet life there. Run away from the tempting vibrancy that made her feel alive for the first time in months.

Determined to face the past head-on, she walked into the sala as she had countless times before. The spun-gold sunlight that streamed through the bank of windows to dance over the pasta tiles seemed far too welcoming for a place that should still be deep in mourning.

She’d notified the housekeeper of her return, and that kind woman must have hurried to tidy the place. She’d even left the windows open to air the house out.

It looked as if Allegra had stepped out for a day of shopping and had just returned. If only that were true—

“Señora, where would you like me to place your luggage?” her driver asked her.

“In the upstairs bedroom facing the sea, please.”

Allegra was unwilling to step foot in the master bedroom this soon. Besides sleep had been a stranger to her of late. And the memories made in that room were better left undisturbed.

As if she could ever forget Miguel.

The driver toted her bags upstairs and was back in a heartbeat, hand extended. Allegra paid him for the fare from the airport, plus a generous tip.

“Gracias, señora,” he said, smiling broadly in a gracious manner she’d once taken for granted.

She’d taken so much for granted. What was it they said? You never appreciated what you had until it was gone?

The heavy ache of loss washed over her like the incoming tide, threatening to erode her moorings. The doctor’s warning that she wasn’t strong enough to go through with this rocked her shaky confidence.

She hated the uncertainty. Hated the black void still there in her memory.

Allegra swallowed the impulsive request that the departing driver return her to the airport. She closed and locked the door, then pressed her forehead against the cool wood until her breathing steadied. Leaving would solve nothing.

Closure. She had to shut the door on the past and walk away a new woman.

She had to find peace of mind. She could think of no better place than her beach house.

Allegra turned toward the shady palapa where she’d relished taking her afternoon tea and drank in the tranquil sights that she’d fallen in love with when she came here two years ago. Gentle steps led down to the expanse of white sand that would be warm underfoot.

If she closed her eyes she could see herself the day she moved into this house. She’d hurried into her bikini and dashed down to the private beach. The water was warm and clear, and the gentle breeze was a sensuous massage on her skin.

England had been a world away, and she’d promised herself she’d partake of every delight the Yucatán had to offer while she made the biggest decision of her life—should she marry the very proper English doctor that she’d dated for over one year?

She liked him. She loved him in a way. But she wasn’t sure of making that final commitment.

That was when Miguel had risen out of the surf like a pagan god, his bronzed body long and lean, his smile slow and sensuous, his eyes promising her pleasures she’d barely tasted.

She shook her head and smiled at that memory. She’d been sure Miguel was a beach bum. How wrong she’d been.

Even after all that had gone wrong, she remembered well how he’d wrap his arms and legs around her, holding her so close after they made love that she believed they were one. She’d been helplessly naive. Hopelessly in love.

She’d known whatever happened here, she’d never be able to marry her doctor.

Then too soon the hot Latin lover who’d swept her off her feet on the beach and caught her up in his privileged world suddenly became too busy building an empire to spend more than stolen moments with his wife and newborn child.

She’d made excuses for him that he needed time away from a fussy infant and frazzled wife. She’d waited for her lover, her husband, her hero.

But he never came.

The sun slanted just so through the windows to catch the gilded edge of a lone picture frame on the far étagère. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move.

She crossed to the étagère on legs that trembled. Her hands shook as she reached for the picture, her grip too tight, her heart beating too fast. Her precious baby, her Cristobel.

She’d never wanted anything as much as she’d wanted this beautiful child conceived in love. A gift from God, Miguel had said, and she’d agreed.

Her trembling finger traced the plump cheek of the life she and Miguel created when their love was new and unencumbered. How could she have been so careless with this child?

She gathered the picture to her heart and squeezed her eyes shut, but her daughter’s smile filled her mind’s eye and her gurgling laugh replaced the quiet that crashed in the room like an angry sea. One racking sob escaped her, then another.

Her fault, her conscience needled her as she crossed to the sofa with the photo digging into her flesh and tears blinding her to cruel reality. Her fault.

Miguel took less than two steps into the beach house before the provocative scent that was uniquely Allegra’s teased his senses. His angry gaze scanned the sala and found her sitting on the sofa, head bowed.

This time seeing her wasn’t a trick of his imagination. This time the fragrance and the woman were real.

This time retribution was in his grasp.

Though he’d known she was finally coming back, his heart gave a sharp, painful kick that was at odds with his fury. It had been that way from the moment he’d first met her, standing like an ethereal angel at the edge of the sea, her skin white as cream and just as soft.

She’d broken through his defenses and took command of his waking and sleeping thoughts. For the first time in his life he’d nearly lost control of his emotions but that was never to be. Instead he had shown his feelings by keeping her safe—hiring a personal guard to protect her from danger when he wasn’t there to protect her himself.

He stepped back from the sensual vortex that sucked him closer and closer to her. And just when he’d feared he’d judged her wrong, she’d proved she was a scheming vixen.

His fingers dug into the thirsty towel he’d draped around his neck as he crossed the cool tile floor to her. The sand he tracked in crunched underfoot, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She slept soundly, as if she didn’t have a care or was exhausted. He suspected the latter when he drew near.

The fading light played over her porcelain features and frail form. His brows slammed together and unease bubbled in his gut, for she was far too pale and far too thin—her simple blouse and slacks hung on her.

The worry she spurred in him infuriated him, for she deserved his fiery wrath, not his concern. He had every reason to hate her. He did hate her!

He despised that she could slumber when sleep had been a stranger to him for six long months.

Yet looking at her roused those tender emotions as well as the memories that never died. He’d seen her a thousand times in his dreams: laughing, flirtatious, sensuous. He’d seen her happy, angry and sad.

But he’d never seen her like this.

She embodied the image of a fragile waif who had washed up on the shore. Far too delicate to wage a battle with him.

And this reunion would be a battle, for he’d not capitulate to her desires. No. He’d vowed to make her regret her callous disregard of their daughter, and her marriage vows.

He leaned close to shake her awake then froze when he saw the picture frame clutched to her chest. ¡Dios mio! She dared to cradle Cristobel’s picture to her heart?

He lurched back and scrubbed a shaky hand over his face, torn between ripping the framed picture from her or taking her in his arms. Did the memories that tormented him do so to her as well? Was she needled with regret?

The streaks of mascara on her pale cheeks confirmed she’d shed recent tears. He had that satisfaction of knowing she’d been touched with grief.

But her remorse came far too late.

She’d brought about the destruction of their marriage and their family the day she cast her vows aside. She’d proved to him that he’d been right to hold a part of himself from her.

For instead of remaining in Cancún to share their grief and see to their daughter’s burial, she’d flitted off to England with her lover. She’d forgotten her husband and the baby lying cold in her grave.

But he hadn’t forgotten her perfidy.

He jerked the towel from around his neck with a snap and flung it on a nearby chair. Bits of sand peppered the room in a glittering shower of white.

The woman before him stirred, a jerky movement of one coming awake with the knowledge something wasn’t quite right. Every nerve in his body snapped and sizzled the second she clearly realized he was standing over her.

Their gazes clashed like angry froth on the shoals.

His blazed with the anger and torment that burned in his soul. Hers opened wide and glinted with apprehension.

He allowed a grim smile. “Buenos noches, querida. How good of you to return home at last.”

She blinked and sat up quickly, clearly snapping out of her wary spell. “How good of you to be here to greet me.” Her lips thinned as she raked his near naked form with a cool, appraising look. “For a change.”

It was a clean hit he didn’t deserve. Sí, he’d spent weeks away from her before their daughter’s birth, but he’d needed to put distance between them at a time when her body was lush and tempting him to toss his reservations aside. It was then he had realized the hold she had over his emotions. He knew from past experience that with love came a fear of loss sharp and cold.

So he delved into business. He wasn’t about to enlighten his unfaithful wife about his dealings. No, he’d learned that lesson the hard way years ago.

He was a Gutierrez. Like generations before him, he kept his business apart from his family life. It was the only way and she would learn to live with it.

Except she hadn’t learned. She’d sought affection in the arms of another man.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“There is a tropical storm brewing,” he said. “I came to make preparations.”

“And swim?”

“Sí. The waters are calmer before the storm.” Like this reunion with her promised to be?

She looked around the sala, the framed photo still clutched tight to her chest. Her brow was creased in confusion or irritation—he didn’t care which, for her feelings meant nothing to him.

“You’ve come here often,” she said.

“It is convenient to spend the night here when I’m detained in the city on business.” In truth, he came here to reflect on all he’d had in his grasp, and all he’d lost.

“As I recall, you spent more time away from the casa than you did in residence.”

He gave a lazy shrug when he felt anything but nonchalant, for the peevish tone that crept into her voice was a barb in his skin—it sounded as if she blamed him for what had happened.

“Why did you come back?” he said.

“Closure.”

He waved a negligent hand as if bored. “Meaning?”

She drew in a shaky breath that was at odds with her prim outward show. “I want to visit Cristobel’s grave.” She gave the room a longing glance. “I wish to sell this house.” Her eyes locked with his. “I want a divorce.”

He’d expected this, yet the cool order in which she’d delivered her wants chafed him. “Did you go back to your doctor?”

“Of course not.”

He believed her. She’d moved past that man. Past him as well. “Our daughter is laid to rest amid her ancestors.”

Her throat worked. “I expected she would be, but you can’t stop me from visiting my child’s grave.”

He could if he wished. It would take no more than a simple request, and Allegra Vandohrn would find herself deported to England.

“I will take you there,” he said.

She tensed up at that. “I don’t require your company.”

“You will have it, regardless.”

He waited for her to argue the point. She simply heaved a sigh and gave a shaky nod, but his English rose soon proved she had thorns. “How often have you availed yourself of my house?”

“Whenever I wished to,” he said, intrigued by her ire.

“Your arrogance amazes me,” she said, the soprano pitch in her contralto voice stopping him. “You could have stayed at a hotel. You could have driven back to your hacienda.”

“I chose not to.” He kept his expression blank when his insides rampaged with fury, but he welcomed the anger over the other emotions that threatened to blindside him. “I prefer to avoid the crowds at the hotels. As you know, the drive can be treacherous when one is weary or reckless.”

That remark drained the color from her face. Her eyes clouded with profound grief. He waited for the satisfaction of besting her to wash over him, of hurting her as she’d hurt him, but all he felt was a vast emptiness that pulsed and throbbed and ached in his soul.

“This is my house,” she said simply. “I bought it with my inheritance.”

A fact he remembered well, but brushed away with a shrug now. “You have failed to keep up your obligations.”

“Uncle Loring said he’d taken care of everything.”

Ah, her very proper family to the rescue again. Except this time her uncle had failed her.

“Your housekeeper called me a month after you fled Cancún, wondering what she should do,” he said. “Her funds had run out, so I assumed the responsibility.”

Profound confusion pulled at her delicate features. “That can’t be.”

He arched one arrogantly arched eyebrow. “Should I summon the housekeeper to explain?”

“Of course not.”

She hugged her tiny waist and he resisted the urge to draw her into his protective embrace. She was his weakness. His Achilles’ heel. ¡Dios mio! Would he always be plagued with concern for this woman?

Her spine went stiff and her features tensed. “Do you bring your women here?”

He just barely bridled his muscles from snapping taut. How dare she ask him that! He stared at the woman he’d vowed to honor until his dying day and swore under his breath.

“Come now, there’s no reason to lie—”

“On occasion,” he interrupted smoothly.

She looked away, as if the sight of him sickened her, as if hurt by the thought of him bringing another woman here. Strange reaction for the wife who’d taken a lover behind her husband’s back. But then their marriage had grown strained the month before Cristobel’s birth.

“What of you, querida? Did you bring your lover here?”

“How dare you suggest such a thing!”

Her eyes flashed fire even as she seemed to shrink in on herself. Rebellious yet withdrawn. Those two opposites she affected with ease. Those two qualities had lured him to her from the beginning a lifetime ago.

“The only lover I entertained here was you.” Her chin came up, her lush lips trembling a fraction before thinning into a disagreeable line. “And do remember you lost the right to call me your darling six months ago.”

¡Dios mio! She dared speak to him of rights? She’d shut him out of her life to take up with her lover, then returned to Cancún to portray the affronted one?

He moved in on her, forcing her against the pristine-white wall, bending close to bracket his hands on both sides of her narrow shoulders that quaked despite their rigid lines.

Beads of unease pebbled over her skin, and he just barely caught himself from running a finger over her cool, smooth flesh. Damn, but this woman tied him in knots!

“You should use care before you remind me of what I’ve lost,” he said.

“I’ve lost, too, Miguel. Surely you realize that!”

She looked away before he could come back with a stinging retort, and it was then that he realized she still clutched the photo of their niña. ¡Hostias! Was that a sob she made?

He pushed away from her like she was poison and dragged his fingers through his damp hair, raking his scalp. He would not feel compassion for her. He would not wish to know she’d suffered a moment, for it would be nothing but lies. He would not care one bit for her. He would not!

Miguel knew the truth. When he’d confronted Loring Vandohrn regarding the whereabouts of his wife, her uncle had informed him that she’d gone on holiday with her lover. He’d suggested Miguel seek a divorce.

It would have been the simplest solution. But a divorce robbed him of vengeance. It did not punish his wife whose recklessness took their child’s life. It did not assuage the angst Miguel had lived with for months when he searched for his wife only to be thwarted at every turn.

He looked down at the woman who’d turned his life upside down and wondered why she’d decided to seek a divorce now. Did she wish to marry her lover?

The bead of moisture clinging to her full upper lip confirmed she didn’t like him this close to her. God knew it was a mistake for him to tempt fate as well.

It would be so easy for him to dip his head and lap that salty bead of moisture off her mouth. So inviting to trace the lush, provocative bow of her upper lip with his tongue.

Her enticing floral scent teased him with the memory of how much he’d enjoyed making love with this woman—and the countless times since she’d left when he’d reached for her in his sleep.

He hated that weakness for her, that after all that had happened his body still yearned to mesh with the sweet warmth hers offered. The darkening of her pupils proved she wasn’t averse to him, either.

Sí, she wanted a divorce? Fine, he’d grant her one after he satisfied his revenge.

“Please, Miguel, just leave me be,” she said and turned her face from his.

That would be the sane thing to do. Walk away and not look back. Grant her a divorce and let her have her closure.

But that wouldn’t satisfy his vengeance. She’d denied him the satisfaction of confronting her six months ago. Now she’d returned and he’d not be deprived of his just due.

“If that was your wish,” he said as he trailed a finger down her pale cheek and felt a shiver of awareness rock her body, “then you should have stayed with your lover.”

Her blue eyes snapped with a curious mix of anger and hurt. “Why do you persist in believing the worst of me?”

“You ask that after what you did?”

He pushed away from her then, because he’d never seen her look so miserable.

It was the image he’d tried to envision of her, but seeing it twisted something deep inside him. He hated these feelings she wrought in him. Hated her for making him feel something besides animosity toward her.

“I’ve had enough. If you won’t leave, then I will,” she said.

“Running away already?” he asked. “What of this closure you’ve returned for?”

“I’ll never have that as long as I’m subject to your ill temper.” She turned away from him and gave a frantic scan of the room, wavering slightly. “Where is the phone?”

“In the bedroom.”

She pushed past him without looking at him, seeming not to be looking at anything at all. Though her course was straight, he caught the slight warble in her legs.

He was reminded again by how much weight she’d lost. “Who are you going to call?”

“That’s none of your business,” she said.

“It is if you’re using my phone.”

“Very well. I intend to ring for a taxi.”

“I will take you where you need to go.”

Did she think she could shack up with her lover in Cancún? The paparazzi would have a field day with that gossip.

“I prefer a taxi and a hotel that isn’t under your control,” she said.

“Then you should have stayed in England.”

That brought her facing him again, and this time there was no mistaking her shock. “You’ve acquired that much power?”

“Sí, and I will not have you flaunt a lover under my nose!” He stalked her as a jaguar would a weakened prey, toying with her, knowing he had time to pounce.

She laughed, the sound bitter. “I assure you I do not have a lover here or anywhere.”

“You expect me to believe you?”

She whirled on him, her blue eyes snapping with anger now. “I don’t care if you do or not.”

“You should care, querida, for I hold your future in my hands.”

Her chin came up, but he caught the slight tremor in it. “Is that a threat?”

He hiked one shoulder in a careless shrug. “A promise. You want a divorce? I’ll grant you one.”

The wariness was back in her eyes again. “Are you serious?”

“Sí. I don’t wish to remain married to an unfaithful wife any longer.”

“I never broke my vows,” she said, seeming angry that he’d insinuate she’d cheated on him.

He smiled, no more than a show of teeth. “Sí, you did. I have proof of your infidelity.”

“That’s impossible!”

“No, querida,” he said. “I have pictures, and witnesses.”

And now he had the satisfaction of seeing her face leach of color.

CHAPTER TWO

ALLEGRA stared at Miguel, scarcely believing they were having this insane conversation.

“I have spent the past five months in a private sanitarium,” she said, remembering every facet of the bland room and the benign gardens visible out her window, painfully mindful of the hours ticking by without word from her husband.

One day smoothly blended into the next, counting off weeks. Months. She knew the sparse staff by serene face and finally by name. Knew what times of the day to expect the doctor, and knew each session would be a struggle to remember the simplest things.

She knew when Sunday rolled around because she’d have a brief visit from Uncle Loring.

That had been the extent of her memory until one month ago. She certainly hadn’t had a lover there, or anywhere else for that matter.

“It is called Bartholomew Fields,” she said, and meeting his hard gaze, she challenged, “Look it up.”

His laugh was a whiplash to her nerves. “So now you are accusing your uncle of lying.”

“Of course not. Just what are you insinuating?”

“Your uncle told me you’d gone off on holiday with your lover, querida.”

That couldn’t be. “Why would he say such a thing?”

“Because it is the truth,” he said, the dangerous hiss in his voice raising gooseflesh.

“No, it’s not.”

After five months, she’d come out of her sleep and begged to see Miguel and her beautiful daughter. That’s when the doctor had told her about the tragedy.

Cristobel had died in the auto accident. She’d barely survived herself, losing her memory and her ability to conceive again.

Miguel prowled the room, and she knew he would spring at the slightest provocation. “He suggested I divorce you.”

She shook her head, more confused than before. Uncle Loring had been painfully clear in telling her that Miguel held her totally to blame for their daughter’s death. He could not bear the sight of her. He wanted nothing more to do with her.

Yet Miguel claimed he’d come after her. Who was she to believe?

The slow, steady thud of her heart told her Miguel was telling the truth. True, her uncle had never liked Miguel, but that was no reason to lie to him about her health.

He was her husband. Then more than ever, she’d needed him at her side.

Instead Miguel had gone back to the Yucatán believing the worst of her. While she’d been locked away at Bartholomew Fields grieving for all she’d lost—her child, her marriage, her sanity.

She’d actually had no desire to go on, until her uncle’s health broke and she had to rally her own wits to care for him. It was then that she realized she must heed the doctor’s advice and return here for closure.

“I want to see this proof you claim to have,” she said, daring him to reveal his hand.

“I will when we reach Hacienda Primaro.”

A sliver of fear whispered over Allegra and she shivered. “I’ll pass on a visit to your family home.”

One dark eyebrow arched high over an eye that glittered hard and unyielding. “It wasn’t an invitation, querida. You want to see the proof of your indiscretion? It is there in my office. You wish to visit our daughter’s grave? She rests in the cementerio adjacent to the hacienda.”

She looked away and hugged her middle that pulsed with a hollow ache. The trepidation of returning to the hacienda unnerved her.

Something dreadful had happened there, for the apprehension dancing over her skin was real. But what? That memory was lost in the black void, and willing it to become clear in her mind only left her with a dull headache.

“Fine,” she said, capitulating without argument. “I will visit the hacienda and Cristobel’s grave, then return here.”

“No.” The single word cracked with finality, defying argument.

Her gaze shifted to Miguel standing tall and imposing in the sala. For the first time she noted the changes in him. He’d put on more muscle in his shoulders and torso, making him look formidable. Dangerous even.

He was not a man to be crossed.

Yet she didn’t fear him.

No, there was a mystique in his dark eyes that drew her. But though she’d fallen into his arms before, she’d not make that mistake again.

Never again would she allow herself to be shut out of her husband’s life. She certainly wouldn’t push her heart out there to be trampled again.

“You can’t order me about,” she said.

He inclined his head in arrogant agreement. “I would not attempt to, but if you wish to have an uncontested divorce, you will agree to my proposal.”

The dread in her stomach quivered and knotted, for his threat was clear—agree with him or spend years litigating her divorce. She didn’t have the funds for that and he knew it.

Still, she wasn’t about to capitulate immediately. “I can’t imagine why you’d wish to draw this out.”

His flash of teeth warned her she’d not like his answer. “Let’s call it equitable compensation for the fortune in jewelry you stole.”

She blinked, certain she hadn’t heard him right. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you would deny it.” He prowled the room with lazy insouciance, though his glittering eyes continued to skewer her to the spot. “I will admit this was partly my fault, for I gave you the combination to the safe. I trusted you.”

The accusation she’d stolen anything from him fired her anger. Though the memory of the hours surrounding the accident remained a blur, she knew she’d not availed herself of anything stored in the safe before she’d left the hacienda.

She felt certain that wherever she was going hadn’t warranted her wearing a fortune in jewelry. “All that I took with me that day were my wedding rings.”

He stared at her bare left hand. “Did you hock those as well?”

“I didn’t pawn any jewelry,” she said, hurt and angry that he continued to believe the worst in her.

“You still have them then?”

“I told you all I had with me were my wedding rings.”

He loosed a raw laugh. “Which you no longer wear.”

She stared at the stubborn man she’d lost her heart to and weighed her actions. Really, there was no choice.

“In this, I take delight in proving you wrong,” she said.

Allegra pulled on the gold chain hidden under her blouse until the diamond and emerald engagement ring and gold wedding band that had been created for her dangled free. “I lost a good deal of weight and feared I’d lose these.”

His long, lean fingers closed over the rings that were warmed from nestling between her breasts. A quicksilver glint of longing lit his dark eyes then vanished under his shrewd scrutiny.

“You expect me to believe you wear these all the time?”

“I couldn’t care less what you believe!” She gave the chain a tug, and he released the rings as if they burned him. “Perhaps it was silly of me to continue wearing the tokens of your troth when it is clear you no longer wanted me.”

“I never said I didn’t want you, querida.” A slow rapacious smile curved the lips that had once ravished every inch of her body, and despite her annoyance with Miguel a tingling heat skittered over her body.

“Enough arguing,” she said. “Our prenuptial agreement details my settlement. I’ve no desire to contest it.”

“It would be a waste of time and money to do so.”

A fact she was well aware of. “Fine,” she said again when she felt anything but fine. “What is your proposal?”

“I want you.”

Those three words sucked the breath from her. Surely he couldn’t mean it like that. But as the seconds pounded by and he failed to explain, she suspected this was indeed intended to be a sexual connotation.

“Want me how?” she asked anyway in case her foggy mind was imagining things.

And right now her imagination was running horribly wild. Just the idea of falling into his strong arms again was a temptationshe found difficult to reject.

The carnal glint in his eyes threatened to melt her remainingresolve. “As my wife. My lover.”

His words flowed through her veins in a thick, warm rush of need. She should be offended he’d suggest such a thing—at the very least she should be angry he’d demote her to the role of mistress.

But the idea hummed through her senses and made her feel more alive than she had in months. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of a solid argument to throw out there.

In fact she was suddenly having difficulty dragging her gaze away from the solid expanse of his bare chest. Her fingertips tingled with the need to trace the hard slabs of muscle liberally sprinkled with black hair.

His bronzed skin would be warm and the hair soft as down. Her gaze tracked the hair that narrowed into a thin band and disappeared under his swim trunks that he wore indecently low on his lean hips.

For the first time since the accident, moisture gathered in the juncture of her thighs. Yes, she’d missed her husband. She’d missed the unbridled sex they’d shared. Missed lying in his arms afterward listening to the steady drum of his heart.

“A farewell fling then,” she said, and cringed at the reedy pitch to her voice that seemed to scream of her own need. “What if I refuse?”

“Then the deal is off. I’ll drag the divorce out and slap a lien against your beach house.” He crossed to her, each step slow and measured and tightening her nerves until she thought they’d snap.

Her mouth dropped open, and a sick feeling expanded in her belly to pop her sensual bubble. “You’d do that to me?”

“In a heartbeat,” he said with arrogant assurance of his power. “What will it be?”

There was only one choice and he knew it. The only difference was her reason for bending to his will—she wanted closure badly enough to put her heart through an emotional wringer with Miguel again.

“When do we begin?”

“Tonight. I invited a norteamericano businessman to dinner tonight to show my gratitude for the property we have successfully negotiated.” He ran a finger down her flushed cheek and she had to lock her knees to keep from bowing into him. “The El Trópico in Playa del Carmen would be the perfect place for dinner and drinks.”

She pulled back and stared at his arrogantly handsome face, expecting a glint of reluctance or hopefully humor after tossing out that name. But his features were too remote for her to read.

“Are you serious?” she asked. “The Quinta Avenida at night is a swarm of tourists, celebrities wishing to be seen and paparazzi.”

He smiled and not a kind one. “Afraid your lover will see us together on the cover of a slick rag, querida? Or has your romance with Amando Rivera ended?”

“Amando! You can’t believe I’d court his interest.”

His gaze blazed into hers with brutal intensity. “I know you did.”

“No! It wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that,” he said. “I know where and why you secretly met with him. When you left the hacienda that last day, so did he.”

A dark memory of that day teased her mind and was gone, leaving her trembling with uncertainty and fear. Yes, she’d worked with Amando at first to help Miguel.

But it had changed. All she was certain of was she had an intense dislike for the guard Miguel had hired to protect her.

“Wear something slinky,” he said as she passed him on legs that still quaked and entered the bedroom they’d shared.

“I’ve no idea if I have anything suitable,” she said.

He waved a hand in the general direction of the bedroom, the movement sensuously masculine and dismissive as he punched in numbers on his mobile phone. “There is a red gown that would be perfect.”

She went absolutely still as those words replayed in her mind, triggering a memory she’d forgotten. If it was the same dress—But it must be. She’d bought it at Miguel’s insistence.

How could she have let that memory slip from her?

The question pinged her mind as she crossed to the closet, hearing the timbre of his voice rattling off Spanish but too engrossed in having captured a lost memory than to eavesdrop on his conversation.

She ran a shaky hand through her hair, remembering the shopping excursion as clearly as if it’d just happened. He’d taken her to an elite shop nearly one year ago, for the functions he’d be attending that fall demanded that his mistress be decked out to the nines.

Though he never told her what she could or couldn’t wear, it was obvious he preferred elegant fashions over slinky ones. Since she wasn’t comfortable wearing revealing fashions, it was a perfect match.

Until the clerk brought out the red gown and proclaimed it was made for her.

She’d had just enough sips of champagne to take the dare.

And the gown was daring with the front consisting of two gathered swaths of glittery fabric that covered her bosom, and the back bared nearly to the dimples in her bum. It fit like skin, and she’d laughingly told Miguel she’d not be able to wear undergarments with it.

His eyes had blazed so hot they’d chased away her chills.

He’d bought it, and she’d set it aside for the gala that December. But a week later she’d discovered she was pregnant, and by the time the gala came around, her figure no longer fit the daring gown.

“Did you find it?” he asked behind her, his breath warm on her nape.

“Yes.” She took it from the closet where it had hung in its protective bag, and her face burned with embarrassment. Don’t look at him. Don’t let him know how this dress and his closeness affected her.

Allegra slipped another hanger off the rod and draped a deep blue gown with generous drapes over the red one. “In case the red one doesn’t fit.”

“Of course.”

Must he stand so close? Must he smell so incredibly male? Must her body choose now to come out of its deep sleep?

What was she thinking by agreeing to do this?

His indecent proposal should infuriate her. It was an insult to their marriage. To her as a woman.

It reduced their marriage that had begun for her with such hope to a purely carnal level.

She should tell him to go to hell and call his bluff. But she couldn’t force the words out.

Miguel didn’t bluff. He’d drag out their divorce for years, and the emotional toil would ruin her more than the financial loss.

She couldn’t let that happen. Besides, the idea of lying in her husband’s arms again roused the primitive beast in her—a beast she’d thought she’d never witness again.

Only with Miguel, her heart warned.

She met his steady gaze with a tentative smile. “So this is it? There are no other surprises for me agreeing to do this charade?”

“None.” He held his head at an imperious angle, his eyes hooded, his broad shoulders dusted with glittering bits of white sand that she longed to brush off. “I will advise my attorney to begin divorce proceedings tomorrow, and I’ll give you fair market value for the beach house at the end of the week.”

“One week. That’s how long this fling will last?” she asked.

“Sí. Did you expect less? More?”

She shook her head, embarrassed to admit she hadn’t thought that far ahead. She’d agreed to his outrageous offer without knowing the details.

She knew what that said about her, and so did he.

“You will accompany me everywhere, querida.”

He smiled a wolf’s smile and dropped a kiss on her mouth. So fleeting. So brief she thought she’d simply imagined it.

“Day and night,” he said against her lips.

Those last words ribboned through her to tie her emotions in knots. It took every ounce of willpower to keep from leaning into his touch. Just like that and her resolve nearly shattered again.

“Cocktails are at eight,” he said, striding toward the master bedroom. “We leave in two hours. Do not be late.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she got out as he flung his towel on the bed and strode toward the shower, shucking his swim trunks with masculine grace.

Thoughts about her inadequate figure swathed in a gown that left nothing to the imagination left her. Her gaze swept down his beautifully bronzed sculpted body, admiring his muscular back, narrow hips, tight bum and long, long legs.

Warmth spread over her like the first fingers of a new dawn cresting the horizon. Heat as thick and hot as lava flowed through her veins.

As before, Miguel was fire in her veins. She’d never lusted for a man as she had him, and she certainly hadn’t expected to feel the same charged energy course through her again, not after all they’d been through.

But it was there—stronger than before.

She bolted up the stairs to the guest room and blocked everything from her mind but getting through this night. She’d returned for closure and she’d have it. If going through the motions of marriage with Miguel was the only means to achieve it, then so be it.

She’d suffered the worst life had to hand her when her darling daughter had died. She’d managed to push past the grief and remorse.

She could certainly do what Miguel wanted of her and not lose her dignity or her pride. And if he captured her heart again?

Well, she’d been through that, too, and survived.

After a quick shower that refreshed her spirits somewhat, she stepped into the crimson gown and took an appraising look at her reflection. The style was more risqué than she’d recalled, but her weight loss was an asset to the design. She’d never aspired to have a model’s figure, but she had one now.

Fortunately the gown hid the scar marking her surgery. What would Miguel think when he saw it? Would he still want her?

She pinched her eyes shut and loosed a groan of disgust. It didn’t matter what he thought of her body. She was his paramour for one week.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

She ran the brush through her mass of hair, then twisted it into a simple chignon. A bit of makeup and she stepped back to take stock of herself. She heaved a sigh, pleased she’d donned the image of the sophisticated wife of a billionaire.

All she needed now was the courage to carry her downstairs and throw herself into the role of his wife that she’d vowed to assume until her dying day. It should be easy, since she’d discovered one vital thing hadn’t changed.

She was still in love with her husband.

CHAPTER THREE

MIGUEL stood by the window and stared out to sea, but still only saw the hunger in Allegra’s blue eyes when he’d tossed out his proposition. He’d thought she’d balk when she realized he’d set them up to be targets of the gossip rags. He’d expected anger at being forced to do his bidding in order to gain her freedom.

But she hadn’t hesitated long before agreeing to resume the role of his wife, leaving him to believe that she wanted out of their marriage so badly that she’d prostitute herself.

She was a money-grabbing schemer. She’d likely run through the funds she’d gained by selling the jewelry she’d stolen and was desperate to sell the beach house to fund her affair. Was Amando Riveras waiting for her to return to him with a fat purse, or had she taken a new lover?

That possibility was a fresh knife thrust in his heart. He hated her as hotly as he’d once desired her for taking his child when she ran off with her lover, for her defiance ended his niña’s life. He’d been sure her deceit had burned out all feelings in him save vengeance.

But being with her again, drawing in her provocatively sweet scent, being close enough to run his hands through her wealth of hair and glide his palms over her creamy soft skin had reawakened the unbridled lust she’d always ignited in him.

She was the spark to his tinder, and he was powerless to put out the flames of desire.

He prided himself on his steely control—until he’d met her. She was the enigma that slipped past his defenses. She was the waif who stole into his thoughts when he needed his rapier wits about him.

She was the one person who struck fear in him, for the feelings she roused terrified him more than the very real possibility of something ill befalling her.

Even now he caught himself concerned about her drastic weight loss that went beyond her losing her baby weight. He knew well she’d always fussed about being too heavy when he’d thought her perfect.

Now she had the figure to rival a fashion model. The pale fragile complexion was indicative of someone who’d spent an exorbitant amount of time indoors. In bed with Amando?

He swore and ran a hand over his just-shaved jaw as he thought of his wife making love with the man he’d hired to guard her. How long had it taken for the man to seduce Allegra?

The attraction had to have taken root before she gave birth to Cristobel. While her belly was swollen with his child, the man he’d handpicked to guard his wife from a kidnapper had seduced her.

And she’d welcomed Amando’s attentions!

He’d known Allegra was unhappy with their marriage those past few months. She hated living at Hacienda Primaro. She had argued bitterly with his madre. She complained about being shut out of his life and wished to hold a position within his corporation.

“A Gutierrez wife does not work in that sense,” he’d told her. “Your job is your home and family.”

“I’ll go crazy here with so little to do,” she’d insisted.

He refused to be moved. “Then perhaps you should ask Madre what causes you could lend your name and time to.”

She’d said no more about holding a job after that. He’d thought she’d finally understood her position.

But he’d been wrong.

While he was immersed in helping the indigenous people survive a catastrophe, she was stealing a fortune in jewels and leaving him with the man he’d hired to protect her from kidnappers.

Miguel had returned to Hacienda Primaro to find his wife gone, his daughter dead and his marriage over. She’d flown back to England, not even staying for their niña’s burial.

Over the ensuing months, his mind had conjured up a thousand scenarios of her and Amando secreted away. He spent countless sleepless nights envisioning ways to make her pay for carelessly endangering their daughter’s life, and for dragging him through this emotional hell.

Miguel had been on the verge of hiring a detective to find her when her housekeeper in Cancún called him. Allegra had phoned to have her ready the beach house.

He made sure he was here waiting for her.

He squinted at the dark line gathering on the horizon. Would he find peace of mind after he extinguished the vengeance that burned in him night and day? Would he ever be free of the guilt that battered his heart because he’d not been there to stop his wife from leaving with his darling niña?

He tipped his head back and stared at the pristine-white ceiling where a fan gently stirred the air that was rife with tension. He’d paid off this house for her as her bride’s gift.

Their love nest, she’d called it.

It had been, too, for they’d retreated here when they needed to be alone. They’d created their beautiful niña here.

Unease rippled over his skin. If she’d wanted out of her marriage, why hadn’t she asked for a divorce before? Why the hell hadn’t she left Cristobel with Madre when she ran off with Amando Riveras?

The scuff of a shoe on the steps alerted him to her entrance. Before the accident, he always turned to greet her with a welcoming smile that mirrored his desire, always had been stunned by her natural beauty. Her poise. Her sensual aura that enveloped him in her white-hot woman’s heat.

They’d had a passionate connection that he’d never felt with another woman. It caught him off guard to discover that attraction was still there—still as commanding as it had been that first day he’d seen her on the beach.

But he wouldn’t let her know that. She’d lost that right to know what was in his heart when she left him for another man.

Miguel faced her, his features carefully wiped clean of the emotions that kept him on edge. The erotically sensual woman before him made his pulse race.

Even wearing such a provocative gown, she looked poised and sure of herself. Surely every man would lust after her tonight.

“You are more alluring in that gown than I remember,” he said.

The flush streaking across her cheeks and coloring her throat reminded him of the day he’d bought this dress for her. She’d blushed and fussed and told him that it would be months before she could fit into this gown because she’d just discovered she was pregnant.

That day he’d started thinking of forever with this woman instead of an affair. That day he’d thought with his heart instead of his head, even though a part of him warned of the danger of caring too deeply for her.

He wanted her, and was certain he’d not fall that deeply under her spell. But he had.

He’d been terrified of loving her. And terrified of losing her.

In the end he’d done both.

He cut a sharp glance at his watch, blotting the provocative sight of her from his mind. Yet his body still hummed with awareness of her.

He gritted his teeth and tamped down the raw animal need coursing through him. She came back for closure?

Fine, he’d gladly help her slam the door on their past. But she was in for a rude shock, for when he was done with her, she’d have nothing. She’d gotten all she was going to get from his family.

No, that was a lie. He’d lived for the moment when the business dinner was concluded, when he and Allegra returned here tonight. When she upheld her agreement to be his wife in all ways. When he took her heart again. And when he dumped her as she had him, she’d know the pain of betrayal.

He let his gaze sweep up her, slowly this time, noting the tensing in her limbs and inviting swell of her bosom. The telling hip thrust was a primitive and provocative invitation for him to push her against the wall and take her now.

Sí, she was a temptress. He ruthlessly tamped down his urges and shifted to ease the ache of his arousal.

Tonight he’d indulge in what she offered.

Tonight she’d be his to command. To conquer.

“Where is your jewelry?” he asked, his deep voice startling her from admiring the refined gentleman standing before her.

Miguel had told her once that his Spanish ancestors had come to Mexico to conquer it. That one conquistador had seduced a Mayan princess yet settled here, joining two worlds, two cultures.

His grandfather had achieved great wealth. His father had capitalized on it to increase the fortune. But it was Miguel’s cunning and daring that propelled the family holdings well into the exalted group of billionaires.

He was a conquistador, his bearing proud and unflinching. His jawline was strong, the cheekbones high and pronounced. He had a straight aristocratic nose, and his dark mocha eyes glittered with a mesmerizing light that burned from within.

But the feature she’d loved most about Miguel was the shape of his mouth. The lower lip was full and curved just so. The upper one had a generous bow that arched as if hinting he was always amused.

Or mocking, as he seemed now.

Allegra stuffed a few essentials into an evening bag, annoyed his spicy scent wrapped around her like loving arms. It annoyed her that he’d brought up the subject of jewelry.

She turned her left hand so he could see her rings. She’d found tape in a cabinet in the loo and added enough to keep her rings from falling off her fingers.

“The gold chain did nothing for the gown,” she said, when his dark gaze fixed on hers again.

She’d left her jewelry at the hacienda. She didn’t miss the extravagant pieces that had passed down through his family, for the designs dripping with gems had never appealed to her. But she mourned the loss of those few items, especially the emerald suspended on a delicate gold chain, that he’d given her after she’d told him she was pregnant.

A sacred bond, he’d called it. Green gems held special meaning for the Mayan, so it was only fitting that they commemorate their union with an emerald, and mark the conception of their firstborn daughter with one as well.

His thick eyebrows slanted, his gaze appraising, his stance domineering. “Perhaps the effect is better without adornments.”

“Whether it is or not, this will have to do.” She lifted her chin. “Are we ready then?”

“Sí. My car is in the garage.” He grasped her arm, his touch firm and warm. Commanding yet intimate.

She moved with him in silent synchronization, a woman clearly attune to her man’s slightest nuances. The months apart hadn’t changed that.

The sense of oneness they projected drew attention. They’d always made a striking couple, whether they consciously tried or not. They were just that in sync with each other’s moods and desires.

Now was no different. But the image they projected was a scam.

He was angry. Furiously so.

Well, she was annoyed, too. Nothing had changed. He still regarded her as an adornment on his arm.

Like everything else he owned, she’d been a possession. But was that why she’d left him? She hoped she’d find the answers here soon.

She proceeded him through the side door into the garage, expecting to find the luxury sedan that he favored for long road trips. A sports car sat in its place, as sleek and black as the jaguar that bore its name.

As dangerous as the man escorting her into it and then striding around the hood with masculine grace and climbing behind the wheel.

“Is something wrong?” he asked when he caught her staring at him.

The list was long, but she shook her head in answer. What difference did it make that she was an uneasy passenger after the accident?

It was just another of the crosses she had to bear. She fastened her seat belt, somewhat surprised when he did the same for he’d never done so before.

He zipped out of the garage and onto the road, then threw the car in gear and sped off. The jolt pressed Allegra against the seat, and for a moment she felt a spate of panic that had haunted her since that night.

She steadied her breathing and focused on the diverse scenery as they zipped down Carretera 307, the jungle to her right and the expanse of white sand beaches to her left.

This was one of the most beautiful places on earth, yet tonight she was so filled with apprehension that she feared it would take little provocation for her to jump out of her skin.

“Having second thoughts?” he asked.

“No,” she said, taking small pleasure that he’d picked up on her unease.

At least she hadn’t been wrong about that affinity with Miguel! But it also meant she’d have the devil’s time hiding her emotions from him.

“Relax and enjoy the drive.”

“I’m trying to.” She pressed her palms flat against her thighs and drew in several calming breaths.

“How is your mother?” she asked to fill the silence.

“Busy with her grandson,” he said.

“Your sister’s son was a precocious child,” she said, and bit back adding he was spoiled and rude.

He nodded as he wove in and out of traffic. “He enjoys having all of Madre’s attention.”

“That will change when another grandchild is born,” she said, certain Miguel’s sister would have more.

But Miguel would likely remarry and start a new family one day. She ignored the stab of pain that thought wrought.

Even if they could overcome their differences, even if they could come to trust one another one day, one fact remained to make her totally unsuitable as his wife. She couldn’t have any more children, and a man in Miguel’s position would want heirs.

“Sí, it will be a big adjustment for him,” he said, and she responded with a murmur of agreement.

She took the time to study Miguel, noting the new lines in his face. The sharper glint in his eyes. The somber expression that hinted he always had something troubling him.

A flicker of light behind them caught her eye. She looked back just as a car swerved sharply inches from their bumper.

“No!”

She shielded her face, expecting the air bag to explode into her. A cry sliced above the scream of tires, the sound crackling with agony and terror.

He whipped the car to the side of the highway and fishtailed on the narrow shoulder as he brought the car to a dead stop.

“Allegra!” He grabbed her arms and forced them down.

She blinked at him then stared into the rear seat, her mouth dry, her breath no more than a flutter. “Oh God, I thought—”

She couldn’t go on, couldn’t force the words out.

“You thought what?” he said, a quaver creeping into his deep voice as his hands glided up and down her suddenly chilled arms. “Tell me.”

“I thought that car was going to hit us.” She closed her eyes and forced herself to take metered breaths to still her racing heart. “Like before.”

“What do you mean?”

“The accident.”

A tense silence vibrated between then.

“A car hit you?” An incredulous rake of his gaze followed his question that echoed with skepticism.

She shook her head, annoyed her memory was littered with holes. “I don’t know. I hear the explosion of the airbags and the suffocating pressure on my chest. I hear Cristobel crying.”

“What do you remember?” he asked.

“Very little. What I do recall comes in snippets that often seem out of order.”

“You suffer from a memory loss?” he asked, incredulity ringing loud and clear in his voice.

“Yes, a form of amnesia,” she said. “Didn’t Uncle Loring explain?”

His dark brows slammed into a vee over the aristocratic blade of his nose. “Not one word.”

Allegra didn’t know what to make of that. If Miguel was to be believed, her uncle had lied to him about her condition and her whereabouts. Why would he do such a thing?

“How often do you have these flashbacks?” he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice now.

Most nights, or any of the other triggers she hadn’t anticipatedthat caught her off guard. “Often enough, though of late the same snippets have played over and over.” She looked into his eyes then and said simply, “The accident and two weeks following it are a mystery to me.”

His dark eyes flared with surprise, but the strong hand that closed protectively over hers was her undoing. For he didn’t merely touch her. His thumb stroked her hand, and the warm vital connection between them brought back vibrant memories of the time when they’d merely sit close and hold hands.

She’d mourned that link with Miguel nearly as much as she grieved over her daughter’s death. But too soon he released her and scowled out the windshield, and the darkening of his tanned cheeks hinted he disliked revealing that much of his feelings to her.

“How long do they think this block will last?” he asked.

“The doctor said it could last a day or forever,” she said, which was the reason she’d decided to leave Bartholomew Fields.

She was suffocating under the doctor’s watchful eye. She hadn’t wanted to be dependent on others for the rest of her life, so she dug deep for the gumption to take matters into her own hands.

It was clear nobody else was coming to her defense. Not her uncle. Certainly not her husband.

“I believed what I was told,” she said. “Just like you did.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You gave up on us, Miguel,” she said. “If you’d really wanted to find me, I wouldn’t have been a virtual prisoner in Bartholomew Fields.”

Her charge rose as a wall between them, for she knew he could move mountains if he chose to. He hadn’t tried hard enough to find her. He’d given up on her.

He swore under his breath and jerked back behind the wheel, but instead of throwing the car into gear, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his mobile. “I will call Señor McClendon and give our regrets for tonight.”

“Don’t.”

She laid a hand atop his and jolted when a intense bolt of emotion shot from him into her. Anger. Confusion. Empathy.

“You need to rest,” he said. “The trip taxed you.”

“I’m all right.” She’d done nothing but rest for months. “There is no reason to postpone your dinner.”

He tipped his head to the side and studied her, as if he was gauging if he could trust her to pull this off. He likely suspected she’d flake-out and embarrass him in front of the paparazzi that were sure to be present.

“If you are feeling—” he paused, as if searching for the right word to describe her spell “—unnerved, then we should postpone this evening until you are more in control of your emotions.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “There’s no need to alter your plans for tonight.”

His critical assessment of her screamed disagreement. “You are certain of this?”

“Yes,” she said, though she wasn’t sure of anything.

She’d let her uncle handle things when she was hospitalized. Now it seemed that he’d lied to her, and he’d lied to Miguel.

Why would Uncle Loring keep her from Miguel? She could only guess that he’d sought to protect her from an uncaring husband.

She curled her fingers into her palms, angry over the lost time apart, the lost memories she may never recover. Most of all, it angered her that they’d lost the chance to cling to each other in the face of tragedy.

She glanced at Miguel. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and scowled out the windshield. She knew he was on the verge of taking her back to the beach house because he doubted her stamina.

She refused to be locked away from life or cower before the paparazzi. She’d come back to the Yucatán for closure, but now she wanted answers as well.

“Do you intend to sit here all night staring out the window, or are we going to Playa del Carmen for dinner?” she asked.

His gaze flicked to hers, and the hot challenge simmering there made her breath catch.

“We join the Tejanos as planned. Hold on.” He’d jutted out into traffic as he spoke, as if testing her to see if she’d lose her grip on reality again.

She dug her fingernails into the leather seat and cast him a sideways look. A muscle ticked madly in his lean cheek. Some perceived that tic as anger, but she knew better. It was the only visible sign she’d seen that belied he was nervous.

She suspected a good deal of it was his aversion toward the paparazzi he’d decided to court this night. But had her barb truly hit a nerve? Could he possibly feel guilty for not finding her?

More likely she’d tweaked his formidable pride by tossing the truth back in his face. He’d not wanted her anymore.

She’d known that when she’d come back here. Still, she’d left the safe haven her doctor offered to confront the most exciting man she’d ever met.

Time would tell if it was a choice she’d live to regret.

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