Light flashed from his armor as his massive shoulders rose and fell in a long sigh. “I am sorry. I did not want to taint your enjoyment of this night.”
Because we only have this night.
“I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.” She looked down at her wedding ring, twisting it on her finger. “I wish-“
The words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t lie to him. She couldn’t wish that things had been different, that she’d never married Manuel. She couldn’t regret her life with her husband, or her children, or her grand-children.
She jumped at his touch. Interlacing his fingers through hers, he turned her hand so that her wedding band caught the moonlight.
“The past makes us who we are,” he said, his voice roughening with fierce intensity. “And I would not change anything about you. Not one thing.”
Oh, this man.
This man who looked like a demon and danced like an angel. This man who sounded like he never spoke and said exactly what she needed to hear. This man could steal her heart.
And she knew that he already had.
She couldn’t blame it on hormones, or her inner coyote. She could no longer deny that she’d fallen for him: hook, line and sinker. In her soul, she’d already broken her marriage vows.
Guilt and confusion roiled in her stomach. Tearing her gaze away from him, she found herself staring at the two champagne flutes they’d left here earlier. To memories, she’d proposed.
A cool breeze ruffled her hair, lifting it away from the nape of her neck. Manuel had always loved to kiss her there. The soft touch on her skin, the drifting sound of salsa music, the scent of jasmine—all combined into a sudden powerful, overwhelming memory:
“Go on,” he whispered, his breath soft on her skin. “You know you want to.”
The music thrilled through her bones, beckoning her forward. Nonetheless, she hesitated, pressing back against his warm, solid chest.
“I can’t just leave you here by yourself,” she protested. “What sort of wife would that make me?”
“What sort of a husband would I be if I demanded you stay chained to my side?” He kissed the nape of her neck again. “I want you to be happy, love. Even when I can’t be the cause. Go. Go and dance.”
Another dance, another time, so long ago she’d forgotten it until now.
The breeze whispered along her neck, soft as the kiss of a ghost.
I want you to be happy, love. Even when I can’t be the cause.
The Master Shark had started to pull back, his face closing down again into an emotionless wall. She gripped his fingers tight, stopping him.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
Surprise flashed across those iron-hard eyes. “My name?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure your mother didn’t call you ‘Master Shark.’” Despite her attempted lightness, her voice trembled. “And maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but I think I should know a man’s name before I kiss him.”
He looked like she’d walloped him across the back of the head with a baseball bat. “Before you…what?”
Stepping closer to him, she rested one hand on his chest. She could feel the wild thudding of his heart, perfectly in time with her own.
“Tell me your name,” she said again.
He was silent for a moment longer, his eyebrows drawing down as if it had been so long since anyone had asked him this question, he was genuinely struggling to remember the answer.
“Finn,” he said at last, softly. “My mother called me Finn.”
Despite her racing pulse, she nearly choked on a snort of laughter. “Finn? Really?”
That shy, sweet, almost-smile flickered briefly across his face. “She had a terrible sense of humor.”