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‘I’m sure I can walk,’ she lied, earning a look of cynical mockery from him.
‘Do you want me to put you down so you can try?’
He’d called her bluff, and damn it, they both knew the answer to that. Even if she hadn’t found being in his arms powerfully addictive, her ankle couldn’t possibly support her weight in that moment.
She didn’t answer, focusing her gaze on the house in front of them instead. There was plenty to look at, and even more as they drew nearer to it. From the sky, it had been beautiful, but on the ground level, she could observe and appreciate many more features, like the windows that were carved into the walls, each boasting a terracotta window box overflowing with geraniums and sweet peas.
‘It’s stunning,’ she said, before she could stop herself.
He walked slowly, each step long and confident, but the house felt like it was miles away. Each step bumped her against his chest, so her body was aware of him on a cellular level. She wanted this to end, she told herself forcefully, even when a part of her—a very small part—was transfixed by the power of this moment, by the strangest sense in the world that being in his arms was like...coming home.
As she’d noticed from the air, the house was square in shape, with a large central courtyard. When Graciano stepped through the double-width blue wooden door into a tiled hallway, she caught glimpses of the courtyard and almost swooned. She put it at the top of her list for further investigation, once her ankle permitted. The rooms were large with high ceilings. He carried her through the entrance way and into a living room with Moroccan-style tiles on the floor, a tapestry on the wall and mid-century lounges. It was an eclectic, stylish mix of furniture that she put down to an interior designer’s eye rather than Graciano’s.
When he reached the sofa, he placed her down onto it, releasing her immediately so she wanted to cry out at the desertion of his touch, but she tamped down on that instinct forcefully.
She’d fallen for this man once before; no way would she let their physical chemistry tempt her again. Things between them were too complicated to allow for any personal desire. Annie had to be her priority—working out how to deal with the fact they shared a daughter he knew nothing about.
With a mutinous expression, she nodded stiffly. ‘Thank you.’
Surprisingly, he laughed, a sound that made her blood simmer. ‘You sound as though you’d rather tell me to go to hell than thank me.’
She ground her teeth together. ‘Can’t they both be true?’
‘Touché.’
‘Why have you brought me here?’ she asked, cutting to the chase. It was hard to have the high ground she’d sought from where she lay on the sofa, but it wasn’t going to stop her from seeking to take control.
‘You need to rest your ankle,’ he pointed out, either accidentally or purposely mistaking her question. ‘Stay here while I get some ice.’
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, waiting until he’d strode from the room before pulling up the hem of her trouser. She was relieved to see her ankle looked normal size, with no swelling that might indicate a sprain or a break. But when she thrust it over the edge of the sofa and tested her weight on it, the joint gave a sharp burst of pain.
Damn.
She lay back and stared at the ceiling before turning her head towards the windows that framed a picture-perfect view of the Mediterranean garden in the foreground and the glistening ocean just behind. It was a perfect day, sunny and warm, summer’s pleasure all around her—except there was no pleasure here, just bitterness and danger, as the secret she’d held close to her chest for ten years was now something she was being forced to grapple with.
She’d had the luxury of pretending for the past decade. Pretending he didn’t exist, pretending he’d forgotten all about her, pretending this was for the best. Pretending Annie didn’t need to know about her father, that she was better off without him.
It was far easier to accept those sentiments when Graciano was an absent, abstract concept, rather than a flesh-and-blood man occupying the same space as her.
Given what had happened between them, and how it had ended, she knew she’d made the only decisions she could at the time, that she’d done what was necessary to give Annie a stable, steady home. She’d always done her best for Annie.
But that didn’t negate Graciano’s rights.
It didn’t absolve her of guilt.
And being here with him threw all that in her face, so she wanted to close her eyes and weep.
He entered the room quickly, a linen tea towel in his hand. She half expected him to hand it to her, but instead he came to her side, bending to one knee as he moved a hand over the affected ankle. Only then did he pause, a moment, before touching her, before lifting the fabric of her trouser just as she’d done—only this time, a thousand sparks ignited in her bloodstream.
‘It looks fine,’ he said gruffly.
‘Well, it doesn’t feel it,’ she said with a tilt of her chin.
His eyes shifted to hers and then returned to her ankle, his hand resting there, his fingers pressing against her skin. Slowly, he pressed his fingers deeper, his inspection clinical and swift, checking for breaks, but that didn’t stop Alicia’s pulse from exploding in her veins.
Her mouth was dry, making speech almost impossible.
‘It does not seem broken.’
