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Her smile faded slightly. “Are you going to invite me in?”
“Sure, sure.”
He fixed her a drink and was careful to sit opposite her in a chair rather than next to her on the couch facing the fire.
“I didn’t think you were going to see me again,” she began, “but Max called me in London and dispelled some of my preconceived notions. I saw you as the rakish sea captain with your merry band of swashbucklers and figured you would have a girl in every port. I realized that I didn’t want to be another notch on your sword belt, so rather than let myself get hurt for falling for the wrong kind of man — again — I decided to go home and spare myself a touch of heartache.
“Then Max called me. He told me that you don’t keep a woman in every port, and in fact in all the years he’s known you, he’s never seen you even go on a date. He told me you were widowed and that your wife was killed by a drunk driver. He says you don’t have a single picture of her and only told him about her one night years ago, but that since her death you’ve cut yourself off from relationships.”
Juan made to speak, but Tory silenced him by crossing to the chair and placing one delicate finger across his lips.
“Max also told me that since I left, you’ve been an insufferable sod, which is why he called me. He seems to think you might like me, and was pretty certain I liked you. So here I am, flying in on a wing and a prayer. How about it? Remember what you told me. Only big risks can bring you big rewards.”
“Only Max ever knew I was married, and I didn’t tell him the whole truth,” Juan said softly. “She was killed by a drunk driver, but what I didn’t say is that she was the drunk. It was ten, no, eleven years ago. She had been to rehab twice already, but it never really stuck. I didn’t know she’d relapsed this time. When I saw the cop standing outside my door that night, I knew immediately what had happened.”
“I’m sorry.” Tory’s hand rested on Juan’s chest. “And you still carry a torch.”
He stared into her eyes. “I still carry the anger.”
The silence stretched for several seconds. “You’re not angry at her, are you.” It wasn’t a question. “It’s yourself you blame.”
“Who else can I?”
“Her, for one.” Tory shrugged out of her jacket. “Listen, Juan. Max told me you’ve already have another job lined up, and I’ve only a week’s leave from Lloyd’s. I’m not asking that you drop everything and marry me. I’m not even asking that you love me. I’m asking that for once you stop taking the blame for everything bad in the world and let yourself enjoy some of the good. When was the last time you were intimate with a woman?”
The frankness of the question sent a stirring jolt through his lower body and inside him a dam he’d spent half a lifetime erecting crashed down in a swirl of emotion. His hand wrapped around the back of her head of its own volition, his fingers entwined in her hair. “Since…”
“Don’t you think it’s about time?” she asked and kissed him.
Juan lifted her easily from the chair, cradling her in his arms as he moved to the bedroom, his heart beating like a trip-hammer. “It was never about time,” he whispered in her ear. “It was just waiting for the right person.” He smiled against her skin. “And I have to warn you I’m probably a bit rusty.”
“Don’t you worry. We’ll work the kinks out.” Tory gave a throaty chuckle. “And maybe even work a few kinks in.”
