He took his eyes off the road for a second to glance at her. ‘What?’
She was silent for a long moment. She didn’t know how to articulate what she was feeling. Not without sounding envious and self-pitying.
Finally she just said, ‘You have an amazing family, Xavier. Don’t ever take them for granted.’
Because one day they’ll be gone, by choice or by fate, and you’ll realise the people you love, and the ones who love you back, are rare gifts indeed.
* * *
Xav walked into the cool of the villa, set his keys down and drew Jordan into the circle of his arms.
She came to him without resistance, shaving the edge off his unease, quelling his concern at her strange turn of mood.
She’d been superb with his family, charming them all as he’d known she would. It was ironic that what he had at first viewed as a potential disaster yesterday had, in fact, been a catalyst for shifting his mind, and his intentions, in a direction he suspected they would have eventually gone anyway—just a little more slowly.
Of course he’d have preferred it if things had panned out in a different, more controlled way, but he appreciated how Jordan had handled her unexpected encounter with his mother. When he’d gone up to see her she’d been flustered, understandably, and given his own preoccupation with the unanticipated turn of events he perhaps had not consoled her as well as he could have.
But she seemed to have taken it all in her stride—another quality to add to her list of attributes.
He stroked her spine through the fabric of her pretty yellow dress. She looked good in anything she wore—and he rather liked those little denim shorts that showed off her legs—but it was nice to see her in something more feminine. It made him want to drape her in jewels—yellow sapphires and emeralds to match her eyes—and commission a dozen bespoke evening gowns that would showcase her luscious curves to perfection. She would, he knew, turn heads wherever they went.
‘What do you want to do this afternoon, querida?’
She eyed him. ‘Don’t you have work to do?’
He did. Fifty-odd unopened emails, a bid for a multimillion-dollar construction project in Dubai awaiting sign-off, and the latest time-wasting communication from Reynaud’s lawyers to read.
None of which, at this very second, mattered more than putting the smile back on Jordan’s lips.
His mother’s words, spoken today out of earshot of anyone else, came back to him.
‘Go gently with her, Xavier. She is vulnerable. I like her and would not wish to see her hurt.’
He’d looked at his mamá and wondered if they were talking about the same woman. ‘She’s strong,’ he’d countered. It was another of her qualities he admired.
‘Yes,’ Elena had agreed. ‘But she is grieving—and strong people hurt, too. They are just better at making the world think they don’t.’ Then she’d reached up and patted his cheek. ‘Rather like someone else I know.’
Of course his mother was not only perceptive and wise, she was right. Jordan was still grieving Camila’s loss. Spending time with his family had reminded her of the loved ones she’d lost and precipitated this sudden bout of sadness.
He didn’t like it. Didn’t like the shadows in her eyes, the downturn of her lovely mouth.
‘No work today,’ he declared. ‘Tell me what you want to do. Your wish is my command.’
She pressed a cool palm to his forehead and frowned. ‘Are you feeling unwell, Senyor de la Vega? You don’t seem yourself.’
He moulded her soft body to his, snugly enough for her to feel his arousal. ‘Come to think of it...’ he murmured. ‘I do have an ache that may need some attention. What would you recommend?’
She pursed her lips, contemplating. ‘I would suggest you go straight to bed.’
His lips quirked. ‘Is that your professional opinion, Nurse Walsh?’
‘It is,’ she said solemnly.
‘In that case—’ he scooped her up and she laughed, and he thought it mig
ht be the sweetest sound he’d ever heard ‘—who am I to argue?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN