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But the tears didn’t stop, sliding hotly down her face as he made such sweet love to her long-neglected flesh. She wanted more, and yet she cried.
Cried for her lost dreams and the barrenness that haunted her. She’d never believed that she had to have a child to be fulfilled as a woman, but having the choice taken away tormented her every single day.
A sob welled up in her throat. Desperate, she pushed him away and jerked her shirt down. Then she buried her face in her hands and let out the tears she’d been holding inside.
She thought Marcos would go, but instead he wrapped her in his arms and held her tight. The gesture was so surprising that she only cried harder.
“Come, you need to get back inside where it’s warm.”
“I’m f-f-fine,” she said, trying to push him away again. Embarrassment was a sizzling wave of pain in her body. Why did she have to cry now? Why in front of him? How could she explain?
Marcos ushered her back into her room, then went into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water. “Drink this.”
She took the glass, swiping furiously at her tears with the back of her hand. Marcos produced a box of tissues.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a few moments.
“I would never force you into my bed,” he said, his voice tight.
She blinked up at him. “That’s what you think this is?”
He shrugged. He looked like a beautiful dark angel as he stared down at her. His snowy white shirt was open, revealing the v-neck undershirt that molded to his hard chest. She could see his pulse beat in his throat, see the tension in the set of his jaw and the vivid white relief of his scar. “What else?”
“It’s complicated. But it’s not you.” Francesca gazed at the tissue in her hand, wadding it tighter and tighter. She thought of all he’d told her earlier, and suddenly she was too weary to hide her pain any longer. She wouldn’t tell him all of it, of course. Some things were too private, too painful. “I was engaged. He left me and I haven’t been with a man since.”
She looked up, found Marcos watching her. The expression on his face said that he’d never considered she might have had a life after him. Perversely, that made her angry.
“I know it’s a surprise, but yes, I actually had a fiancé that nobody bought for me.”
“Francesca—”
“It’s been four years, Marcos. And I find all of this here with you just a bit overwhelming.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose sighing. “You must have loved him very much.”
She bowed her head again and swallowed. She had thought she’d loved Robert for a time, but she’d quickly realized she’d confused companionship for love. “No. I was hurt, of course, but it wasn’t the first time I’d had to deal with betrayal. I learned to be tough, thanks to you.”
She should feel guilty saying that, since those events failed in comparison to the loss of her baby, but it was cathartic to accuse him of having had a hand in stripping away her naïveté. He had been a part of it, but not the biggest part.
“I’m sorry for your pain, Francesca, but life is not always fair. If it were, I’d have been raised in this house with two loving parents.”
Shame flooded her. And the urge to tell him the truth. But then what? To do so would be engaging in a game of one-upmanship that was not fair to either of them. To try and top his pain with her own was wrong. It was not appropriate, not now.
“No, life is not fair,” she agreed. “It simply is. And it could always be worse. Or that’s what I tell myself anyway.”
“Yes, it can always be worse.” He seemed far away in that moment, his eyes unfocused and distant. But then he lasered in on her again. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we’re flying to Mendoza.”
She was awakened by a man yelling. Francesca bolted up in bed, her heart thundering. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep, especially after Marcos announced they were going to Mendoza where his fecund sister and her brood resided.
Now, she threw the covers back and headed across the hall. Marcos, whether he admitted it or not, suffered from nightmares. She could only imagine the things he dreamed about. Francesca tried the door handle. Amazingly, it ghosted open.
She hesitated for only a moment. Would Marcos be angry with her for invading his privacy? Probably, but she had to go to him. How could she let him suffer like this?
She crossed the threshold into the darkened room. Light from the courtyard shafted over the empty bed. Empty? Had she imagined she heard him crying out?
A groan sounded, and then a command in Spanish. It was definitely Marcos’s voice, though grittier and harsher than she was accustomed to. She hurried toward the noise, then stopped short.
He lay in a tangle of blankets on the floor, his bare chest glistening with sweat. There was a scar across his abdomen. Shock rooted her feet to the spot. She’d never seen so much of his body before, had never
