‘It’s hardly a secret how much I like the food here. I come here often enough.’
The statement was brusque, and lacked Zane’s usual charm.
‘And I appreciate your custom, cousin,’ Manuel replied.
Her curiosity was piqued. How odd—why did Zane seem so tense if Manuel was his cousin?
‘Enjoy your meals.’ Manuel pasted the smile back on, smoothing over the discomfort. ‘I’ll see you Saturday, Zane, at Maricruz’s quinceañera.’
A muscle in Zane’s jaw jumped. ‘Yeah, sure.’ But from the look on his face as his cousin left, Iona didn’t think he was looking forward to it at all. Which only piqued her curiosity more.
‘Who’s Maricruz?’
Zane watched Iona lick the salt from the rim of her margarita glass and tried to focus on the question, instead of the coil of desire descending south.
Their enchiladas had come and gone, and he’d discovered that watching her eat was as erotic as it had been last night. He’d never given it much thought before, but far too many of the women he’d dated in the past had picked at their food, or worse insisted on ordering nothing more exciting than a salad—usually because they had some dumb idea they were fat.
But not Iona. She’d closed her eyes and hummed with pleasure while swallowing her first bite of the spicy enchilada. The husky groan had arrowed right through him, and he’d been struggling to keep his mind on their conversation ever since.
‘She’s my cousin, like Manuel,’ he clarified. ‘And most of the rest of Santa Cruz.’
‘How many cousins do you have?’ She put down her margarita, her voice hushed in awe.
‘Last count? Twenty-eight.’ Or was it twenty-nine? It wasn’t something he kept abreast of.
Her eyes widened. ‘But that must have been fabulous growing up,’ she said, the words overflowing with enthusiasm. ‘Having such a huge family?’
Not especially, he thought, annoyed to feel the old anger and resentment resurfacing.
‘It was just me and my dad growing up,’ she added, and he remembered what she’d told him about her mother. ‘Do you have lots of brothers and sisters too?’
‘No. There’s only me,’ he said, the soft brogue of her accent wrapping around him like a caress. ‘My mother married a great guy ten years ago. They wanted more kids, but—’ He stopped abruptly, astonished he’d let that piece of information slip out. ‘But it didn’t happen.’
Maria had never blamed him, never even mentioned it, but he knew having him had screwed up her chances of having more children. So he always avoided the subject.
‘That’s a shame,’ Iona murmured, the genuine sympathy in her tone soothing, even though he’d cauterised the wound years ago. ‘But I guess at least you had all those cousins.’
‘We didn’t see much of each other as kids,’ he said, careful to stop short of explaining the reason why this time. He’d let go of the anger a long time ago, when his grandfather Ernesto had finally been forced to admit that Maria’s gringo son could amount to something. But that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it.
‘So what’s a quinceañera?’ Iona swirled the straw in her margarita and then placed it in her mouth.
Plump lips sucked on the thin plastic. ‘It’s a girl’s fifteenth birthday party. In the Mexican-American community, that’s when her family celebrates her coming of age.’
‘And Maricruz’s quinceañera is this weekend?’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’ How come they were talking about Maricruz and her party? He jerked his gaze off her lips, which had mesmerized him again. And struggled to get the conversation back where he wanted it. ‘So how did Demarest get so friendly with your old man?’
Her smile faltered and then disappeared. ‘That’s a bit of a non-sequitur.’
‘I’m curious.’ He forced himself not to care when she stiffened. She owed him. He’d already told her more than he would usually tell a date about his mother’s family, but she had a way of questioning him that made him forget to be cautious.
His gaze strayed to the snug bodice of her dress. Not to mention her other distracting qualities. He took a swig of his cerveza.
Behave.
‘Why don’t you want to tell me? Have you got something to hide?’ he asked.
‘He came into our gift shop,’ Iona replied, her face a rigid mask.