“Satisfactory!” she cried. She threw her arms around him in the pool and kissed him, over and over, kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his chin. “Oh, Eduardo, I love you so much. Thank you, my darling, thank you!”
He straightened in the pool. His hard-muscled body dazzled her. Droplets of water cascaded down his tanned skin, sparkling in the sun as he lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist.
“This time,” he whispered, “I’ll let you thank me.”
And he kissed her, long and hard, beneath the waving palm trees and the hot Spanish sun.
Many hours later, Eduardo looked down at his naked wife, sleeping in his arms in the darkness of the bedroom. It was past midnight. And he wanted to sleep with her.
Not just make love to her. Making love was easy. Callie was damn beautiful. A man would have to be dead not to want her constantly. Especially when she was happy, as she’d been today.
&nb
sp; She’d been so thrilled to speak with her parents on the phone that afternoon. She hadn’t noticed how shocked her parents were to hear from her, and learn she was in Spain. But after tears on both sides, the Woodvilles had agreed to take his chartered jet and join them in Morocco, after a quick stop at the American consulate to get their very first passports.
Later that evening, as Eduardo discussed necessary travel arrangements with his assistant, Callie had bounced off the walls with excitement and joy. After dinner, they’d played with the baby, given Marisol a bath and put her to bed, and then Callie had grabbed his hand and pulled him to bed, too. Even after making love for hours, for the second time that day, it had still taken unusually long for Callie to fall asleep in his arms: a full ten minutes.
That was hours ago. Eduardo looked bleakly across the luxurious master bedroom of the villa. God knew he’d tried to make himself sleep. But it was always the same. After they made love, he would hold her, his body relaxed, his soul in perfect, blissful peace. He would cherish her in his arms, so soft and willing and warm. But the instant he closed his eyes, sleep disappeared. He tried to relax, but his muscles became tight until beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
He’d never slept with any of the women he bedded. But he’d never wanted to. He’d thought it would be different with Callie. But even with her, he still couldn’t let down his guard completely. Eduardo exhaled, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight, either. He should get up and go to the guest room to sleep, like usual.
Yet he wanted to sleep with his wife.
He wanted to deserve her.
Since the day they’d wed, Eduardo had done everything he could to keep his family safe and happy. He’d supported Callie in every way.
Except one. None of her letters to her family had ever left the house. And she’d never gotten any of their mail, forwarded from New York. When Sami Woodville had tried to phone his office, he’d instructed his secretary to block her calls. When she’d called his cell phone, he’d changed his number.
A cold chill went through his body. Would Callie ever forgive him when she discovered what he’d done? Would she understand that he’d done it for one reason: to protect their family?
He’d been ruthless for a reason. But when Callie had wept with grief in the pool today, something had snapped inside him, and he couldn’t do it anymore—even though he knew all hell would break loose when she spoke with her parents and put two and two together. It was remotely possible for the mail service to misplace a letter, but not scores of them. Callie would soon figure out who’d had means and motive to suppress them.
Eduardo stared bleakly at the bedroom ceiling.
He should tell her himself what he’d done, rather than letting her figure it out. Rather than—say—letting Brandon McLinn be the one to tell her. His jaw tightened. He was sick of feeling the ghost of McLinn always at his back. Tired of waiting for the moment when Callie would finally be disgusted by Eduardo’s flawed soul and leave. Tired of feeling Brandon McLinn always waiting in the shadows, ready to take Callie away the instant he made a mistake.
Was this that final mistake?
His arms tightened around Callie.
Her parents and sister were already somewhere over the Atlantic, but his investigator was having trouble tracking down Brandon McLinn. He believed the young farmer might be on his way, even now, to southern Spain, since he’d discovered their villa’s location from Callie’s family.
Eduardo allowed himself a grim smile. By the time he arrived here, Callie would be in Morocco.
The smile faded as he looked at Callie’s slumbering, trusting face. He should pull his private investigator off Brandon McLinn, along with Walter, Jane and Sami Woodville. He should stop going through his wife’s mail or screening her calls at the villa. He should just take a deep breath, and trust her. Trust everyone.
But he couldn’t. It would mean flying blind. If Eduardo didn’t know the future, how could he prevent catastrophe? How could he keep his family safe? How could he make sure she would never leave, never break his heart; never break Marisol’s?
Listening to her quiet, even breathing, he squeezed his eyes shut. His whole body was tense, and sleep danced away from him, mocking him.
Wearily sitting up, Eduardo watched the gray light of dawn through the windows, and heard the faint call of morning birds above the roar of the ocean. He put his head in his hands. He wanted to deserve her. He wanted to trust her.
He wanted to love her.
“Eduardo?”
He felt a gentle hand on his back. He turned, and saw Callie looking up at him with luminous eyes. “What is it?”