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He didn’t respond, and her touch tightened. “Dad. Promise me that you’ll leave Dario alone.”
His gaze finally moved to her face and he gave a slow grin that only alarmed her further. “Of course. I’m not going to touch a hair on Dario’s head. Why would I?” He spread his hands and raised them in the air. “Why would I? I love that kid.”
And he always had loved Dario. It was one the reasons their marriage had worked. Her father had embraced Dario like the son he’d never had. He’d blessed their marriage and left them alone, never seemed to snoop around, or ask questions, or have any idea about their extracurricular activities.
So why the questions about her marriage? Maybe he had a plant out at the ranch, someone who had seen her and Nick. They hadn’t exactly been discreet, hadn’t felt the need to be on the three-thousand-acre ranch. And they hadn’t wasted a single hour of last weekend. She swallowed a smile at the thought of Nick, naked in the sunlight, the muscles in his arms when he’d moved above her, the taste of his kiss in the morning before breakfast.
It hadn’t been fair for her to press Dario about his feelings for this new girl. Not when Gwen had fallen for Nick years ago, their passion rekindled with every trip she made, her visits more frequent in the last year.
“Dario’s the only one who’s ever made you smile like that.” Her father spoke softly, almost tenderly, and she looked up from her plate, unaware that her face had given away her thoughts about Nick.
She nodded tightly, letting him believe the lie.
“You know I would never jeopardize your relationship with him. I’d do anything to protect it.”
She swallowed, reaching for her wine and lifting it to her lips, grateful for the distraction. She caught a glance at her watch and breathed a sigh of relief at the time. Lunch, almost over. Another grenade, almost avoided.
I would never jeopardize your relationship with him. I’d do anything to protect it. His words pounded through her head and she gulped at the wine, finishing the remainder of the glass.
* * *
BELL
I was running, feet smacking against the pavement, vintage Dr. Dre thumping through my earbuds when my phone rang. I wove around a brochure-passing stripper and pressed the button on my headphone cord, answering the call.
“Hello?”
“You sound busy.” Dario’s voice crackled through the earbuds.
I slowed to a walk, and glanced down the street where I could see the towers of The Majestic sparkling in the sun. “I got a minute.”
“I’m heading to San Diego tomorrow, just for a night. Want to come?”
A seven-foot-tall transvestite tottered by on uneven platforms. I moved aside to give her some room. “Flying or driving?”
“Driving. The plane…” His voice fell off and I wondered, for a moment, if I’d lost him. “The plane would cause too many issues for us, right now.”
“So we’re talking about a road trip. You and me.”
“Yes. I’ll try my best to keep both hands on the wheel.” There was a smirk in his voice and I grinned in response, the decision already made.
“I’ve got my last exam—I should be done around eleven. After that, I’m in.” I turned back, picking up my pace and jogging toward my car. A night away from my issues and his marriage, on a trip all our own… it would be nice.
Twenty-Seven
“I’ve got to step up my game.” Dario stood in the middle of my room, his hands on his hips, and surveyed the area, every spare surface piled with clothes, books, and crap. He looked out of place, too big for this room, and too sexy for words in faded jeans, a T-shirt clinging to his build and a Breitling watch heavy on his wrist.
“What do you mean?” I pushed aside hangers and squeezed to the back of my closet, running my hand over items until I felt the scratchy fabric of my yellow dress. I wiggled it loose and emerged, running a hand through my hair and taming it back into place.
“Your room.” He stepped over and peered down at my desk, my textbooks half covered by my recent Sephora haul. “It’s … crowded.”
“Yep.” I took a giant step over a pile of folded towels and tossed a lone shoe in the general direction of the bed.
“And this is your closet.” He took in the cram of hangers, the pile of shoes in the floor, every inch packed to overflowing.
I squeezed past him and folded the dress into fourths, pushing it into the bag and working the zipper closed. “Your powers of observation are impressive.”
“I don’t understand.” He glanced up at the fan, the blades sagging on the ends and covered in a fine sheen of dust. “You have a gorgeous suite at The Majestic. One with a closet five times bigger than this. And your own bathroom. And a second bedroom, with its own bathroom.”
