“You’re very beautiful, Lola.” Rodrigo’s hot gaze traced slowly over her modest, long-sleeved black knit dress. As they danced to the music, he cupped her cheek. “Very.”
Electricity ripped through her body from where he’d touched her. Sparks raced down her spine, shouting, Yes, yes. This was her man, and she’d missed him, oh, how she’d missed him. She’d dreamed of him unwillingly every night from the moment he’d taken her virginity and made her feel—
Rodrigo dropped his hand. “But you’re ugly on the inside. You’ll do anything for money. Anything? Anyone.”
His cruel words were like a blow.
With a deep breath, she cut off the connection between her heart and her brain. She didn’t care if he insulted her, she told herself. She just had to get through this song. Then he’d leave. And she’d make sure she never saw Rodrigo Cabrera again, or put Jett at risk of being taken from her.
Lola tilted her head, looking at him sardonically. “Ah. There’s your famous charm. If you think I’m so horrible, why don’t you go dance with someone else?”
“Why? Are you so eager to be back in your lover’s arms?”
As if she’d ever let Sergei caress her! As the song finally drew to a close, she stopped dancing, nearly trembling with relief. “Okay, song’s over. Not that this wasn’t fun, but—well, it wasn’t. Go find some other woman to torture.”
Rodrigo stopped, looking down at her on the dance floor.
“And that’s all you have to say to me?” he said softly. “After a year?”
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, in spite of her overwhelming fear, the truth rose guiltily to her throat. Once, they’d been so close; once, she’d told him everything.
No. She hadn’t told him everything. And that had been what had destroyed them.
A hulking shadow appeared beside her. “Song is over,” Sergei said sullenly. “I’m taking her back.”
Lola looked at the Russian with gratitude, then glanced one last time at the Spaniard she’d once loved with all her heart. “I guess this is goodbye.”
“I guess so,” Rodrigo said, his dark eyes unreadable. He turned away.
The orchestra started a new song, and couples resumed swirling around them on the dance floor. Lola turned to Sergei. “I’m tired,” she choked out. “Will you please take me home?”
“Konyechna.” Sergei’s voice was soothing. “I’m sure you miss your baby.”
Lola sucked in her breath, praying Rodrigo hadn’t heard. No such luck. As if in slow motion, he turned back to her.
“Baby?”
“Nothing to do with you.” But her voice was strained, even to her own ears. She had to get out of here—fast. Tossing her blond hair as if she didn’t have a care in the world, she turned back to Sergei. “Let’s go...”
But Rodrigo blocked her path. “How old is the baby?”
“None of your business.”
As she tried to walk past him, Rodrigo grabbed her wrist. His black eyes glittered. “How old, damn you?”
“It doesn’t matter!” She struggled, desperately trying to hide her fear. “He’s not yours!”
But as Lola croaked out the lie, her cheeks went red-hot. There was a reason she’d been such a washout as an actress. She was the worst liar in the world.
Searching her gaze, Rodrigo’s eyes suddenly widened. Dropping her wrist, he staggered back.
He knew. She hadn’t told him, but he still knew.
The ballroom started spinning around her. She tried to think of some way to get out of this. But her brain was frozen.
“The baby’s mine,” Rodrigo said in a low voice. “Isn’t it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. She pointed at Sergei. “He’s the father.”