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So, with a pang of anticipation in her left breast, she said, “I’ll think about it over lunch.”
The floral arrangement in the lobby had been replaced with one chock-full of red gerberas and bright orange tiger lilies bursting amidst green. They navigated around it, Marcos’s hand on her back.
“If you want everyone to know you’re nervous, by all means, keep fidgeting.”
“Fidgeting? Who’s fidgeting?”
He grabbed her trembling hand and linked his fingers through hers, his smile more like a grin. “Now no one. Smile, hmm? Pretend you like me.”
Her pulse skyrocketed at the feel of his palm against hers, but she did not reject the touch and held on. This should be easy. Easy, she told herself. One look at her and everyone would think she was in love with him.
Impulsively she breathed him in, feeling oddly safe and protected. They’d had a wonderful morning, talking of everything and nothing as he accompanied her to the shopping mall across the street. The morning had flown by in casual conversation, which had been a good thing particularly when the night had seemed endless to her.
Now they entered the restaurant. Past the arched foyer entrance stood the most beautiful woman Virginia had ever seen. Tall and toned, blonde and beautiful. Her lips were red, her nails were red. She was clad in a short leather jacket teamed with a white miniskirt and a pair of heels Virginia was certain only an acrobat could walk on. Her face lit up like a sunbeam when she saw Marcos, and then it ecli
psed when she saw Virginia.
She swept to her feet and came to them, her walk as graceful as the swaying of a willow tree. All other female eyes in the restaurant landed on Marcos.
“You’re bigger.” Her eyes became shielded, wary when they moved to her. “And you’re…not alone.”
In one clean sweep, Marissa took in the entire length of Virginia’s knee-length emerald-green designer dress.
Marcos drew her up closer to him and brought those inscrutable eyes of his down on Virginia, his gaze sharpening possessively. “Virginia Hollis, Marissa Galvez.”
He gave Virginia such a male, proprietary look she felt stirrings in all manner of places in her body. Nervous, she offered the woman a nod and a smile. Marissa’s hand was slim and ringed everywhere. They shook hands and took their seats.
The awkwardness had a strange beat—slower somehow, and heavy like lead.
Over the sunlit table, Virginia tentatively slid her hand into Marcos’s, sensed him smile to himself, then felt him give her a squeeze of gratitude which Marissa might have taken as affection. A silence settled. Every minute was a little more agonizing. Marcos’s thumb began to stroke the back of hers, causing pinpricks of awareness to trail up her arm. Sensations of wanting tumbled, one after the other. What would it be like if this were real? Sitting here, with such a man, and knowing the name of the shampoo he showered with and the cologne he wore?
Marissa’s blue eyes shone with a tumult of emotions. “Why didn’t you come to him? He begged you to.”
Virginia’s spine stiffened. Whoa. That had been quite a hostile opening line. But then what did she know?
Marcos answered coolly, reclining easily in his upholstered chair. “I did come.”
“A day too late.”
The corners of his lips kicked up, but the smile was hard somehow, and it didn’t reach his eyes. The air was so tense and dense it was scarcely breathable. “Perhaps if he’d really sent for me, I’d have come sooner—but we both know it wasn’t him who summoned me.”
Surprise flickered across the blonde’s face. “Why would he not call his son on his deathbed?”
“Because he’s an Allende.”
She made a noncommittal sound, rings flashing as she reclined her chin on her right hand. Her eyes dropped to Virginia and Marcos’s locked hands over the table, and finally the woman shrugged. “He died with his pride—but I could see him watching the door every day. He wanted to see you. Every time I came in he…” She faltered, pain flashing across her face as she lowered her arm. “He looked away.”
Marcos was idly playing with Virginia’s fingers. Did he realize? It seemed to distract him. Comfort him, maybe. “He didn’t want to see you, Marissa?”
Her eyes became glimmering blue slits. “He wasn’t himself those last days.” She smiled tightly. “No se que le paso, estaba muy raro.”
Even as Marcos replied in that calm, controlled voice, Virginia sensed his will there, incontestable, allowing for nothing. “You ruin your life for a woman—I suppose you’re bound to have regrets. And to be acting strange,” he added, as though referencing the words she’s said in Spanish.
A waiter dressed in black and white took their orders. Virginia ordered what Marcos was having, wishing she could try everything on the menu at least once but embarrassed to show herself as a glutton. When the waiter moved on, Marissa’s eyes wandered over her. She tapped one long red fingernail to the corners of her red lips.
“You don’t look like Marcos’s type at all,” she commented matter-of-factly.
Virginia half turned to him for a hint of how to answer, and he lifted her hand to graze her knuckles with his lips, saying in a playful murmur that only she seemed to hear, “Aren’t you glad to hear that, amor?”
