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And little wonder. Her father had berated the man for nearly thirty minutes, hurling every insult in the book at him, and Alicia had stood there, silent, by her father’s side, complicit in the abuse because she’d stood there and said nothing. She could still remember the look on Graciano’s face as he’d turned to her. She’d known he’d been waiting for her to defend him, to explain that it hadn’t been sexual assault at all, but a relationship.
And Alicia hadn’t been able to bring herself to incur her father’s anger. She’d put self-preservation above everything else, even Graciano.
For anyone, that would have been a deal breaker, but for a man like Graciano, who was as proud as the sun was hot, who’d been mistreated and abandoned almost all his life, her rejection had been unforgivable.
‘Please.’
His eyes narrowed at the softly voiced word, and her spine tingled from the base of her head to the curve of her bottom. The redhead was almost level with them now; Alicia knew the window was closing. But if he’d come to the ball, then her assistant would have his contact information. She didn’t have to doanythingtonight.
‘Never mind,’ she said after a beat, shaking her head a little so a clump of smooth blond hair fell over her eyes. She lifted a hand to move it, and her skin lifted in goosebumps as his gaze followed the gesture. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
He dipped his head in silent agreement, and before she could say another word, he turned, placed an arm around the redhead’s waist and led her deeper into the ballroom, where the festive scene was completely at odds with the churning sensation deep in Alicia’s gut.
The door to her past had just cracked open, and she had no choice but to step through it.
There was not a lot that held the power to surprise Graciano Cortéz. But the truth was, ten years after being thrown out of Alicia Griffiths’ home, he’d truly believed he’d never seen her again. He believed she no longer held power over him, that he was beyond her reach. He believed she was dead to him.
As she stood on the stage before him, the bolt of recognition spiking in his spine belied that—the same bolt that had almost sheared him in half in the corridor twenty minutes earlier.
A decade ago, in that brief, halcyon time of his life, he’d thought for a moment that he’d found his feet, that someone had accepted him just as he was—loved him, even. Someone had made him smile, and laugh, and trust, and all of the things he thought were dead inside of him she’d brought back to life. Not effortlessly. He’d built his protective shielding brick by brick, and he’d tried to hold on to it in the face of her attention, but little by little, she’d drawn down his guard.
Which was why that morning had been so powerfully awful.
Bitterness washed over him, as memories of his foolish mistake hammered through his brain.
You’re worthless, boy, pure street scum through and through, and you always will be. Always. You’re dead to me. Now get the hell off my land before I call the police.
Even now, ten years later, the ugliness of that morning had the ability to tighten the nerves in Graciano’s body, to flood his body with adrenaline and fill his mouth with a metallic taste.
At the first test of his true sentiment, Edward had thrown Graciano out, back onto the streets, with no care for how that rejection might impact him. And Alicia had watched, silent, choosing to lie to her father rather than admit that the sex had been consensual, that they were in—no, not love. It hadn’t been that. At the time, he’d thought it was, but he’d been a stupid, foolish teenager, looking for something that didn’t exist.
It had been hormones, lust, desire, the pleasure and temptation of the forbidden fruit, one of the oldest seduction tools of all time. He’d wanted her because he couldn’t have her. Love wasn’t a part of it. As for Alicia, she’d thrown him under a bus, letting her father accuse him of rape and throw him back onto the streets. She’d moved closer to Edward, slid her hand into the crook of the minister’s arm, making it clear that she had no intention of speaking the truth.
She’d betrayed Graciano. He’d learned a lot from her and her father, and ever since, he’d kept people at arm’s length as though his life depended on it.
He ground his teeth together, watching intently as she strode onto the stage, replaying their brief interaction. Her smile was self-conscious. Because of him?
Graciano tightened his grip on his knee, sitting as still as a piece of stone as she moved to the lectern.
‘Good evening.’ Her eyes swept the crowd. Looking for him?
That she was older was obvious. She was more sophisticated and womanly, her bearing far less mischievous than that of the sixteen-year-old he’d followed around like a puppy dog when he was, himself, only eighteen. Her hair, rather than being a tumble of coarse blonde curls that flopped wildly down her back, was still fair, but far sleeker, pulled back into an elegant ponytail that glistened as she moved her head. Her makeup was impeccable—the Alicia he’d known had never worn anything cosmetic. Her father would have never allowed it for his little girl.
Objectively, she was beautiful, but she always had been. Despite his hatred of her, Graciano had felt old feelings of desire stir in his gut that had made him want to lean forward and brush her loose hair from her face, to let his fingers drift over her cheeks. He’d wanted to touch her soft lips with his hand, then his mouth—beneath his breath, he uttered a curse.
Ten years had passed since they’d touched one another, and he’d been with enough women since then to know how to indulge his body’s wants. But this was different.
He didn’t simply desire Alicia.
It was darker than that.
He felt a compulsion to be with her, to remind her of what they’d shared before her father had ruined it. To make her admit it had meant something. Until that moment, he hadn’t realised how much he needed that.
Her father had hurt him, yes, but it had been Alicia’s rejection that had irrevocably broken something inside of him. She’d acted as though he meant nothing to her. She’d acted as though he didn’t matter, and suddenly, it was the most important thing in Graciano’s life to make her admit that hadn’t been the case.
‘Thank you all for coming.’ Her voice trembled a little and he leaned forward, wondering if it was the effect of seeing him again that had unnerved her. ‘This is the fourth year I’ve had the privilege of organising the annual McGiven House charity auction, and the first in which I’ll be taking part,’ she added with a wry grimace, finding her confidence as she went on. The crowd cheered loudly. She lifted her hands placatingly, effortlessly charming and modest in a way he took to be studied. After all, the rapturous response spoke of an established acceptance of the fact that she was in high demand.
He leaned ever so slightly forward in his seat, oblivious to the people at his table, including his date—who, in that moment, he couldn’t even remember the name of.
