He paused, quirked an amused eyebrow. ‘Hell, no. I think we’ve handled enough of the Mexican Inquisition for one night, don’t you?’
‘It wasn’t that bad. They’ve all been very sweet and very polite.’
He gave a harsh laugh. ‘You call Roberto’s interrogation about where your family come from polite?’
‘I didn’t mind. He obviously cares about you—they all do.’
He cupped her elbows, drew her towards him. ‘Will you stop being so damn earnest? It just makes me want you more.’
She frowned at the deliberate evasion. ‘I’m serious. It’s nice to have people care about you that much. Why wouldn’t it be?’ How many times as a child had she gone to bed at night, wishing that her own mother could have given that much of a damn about her?
The thought of all those unanswered prayers made her a little sad, even a little annoyed that Zane seemed determined to shun the family he had.
He kissed her nose, gave a rough chuckle and then whispered against her ear. ‘Maybe because my life is none of their damn business.’
He rubbed her arms, then took her hand in his. ‘We’ve only got a small window of opportunity. Let’s go.’
But as they headed for the deck Iona noticed Maricruz, standing by the edge of the dance floor, watching them leave, her hands clasped in front of her and a defeated expression on her face.
‘No, wait, Zane.’ She yanked on his hand to stop him. ‘Maricruz’s waltz, you promised. And I think she’s waiting for you.’
Raking his hand through his hair, he looked over her shoulder and swore softly, obviously spotting the girl—and her anxious expression.
‘It’s her special day—you must.’
His gaze locked on hers and she could see that he was fighting a losing battle with his conscience. ‘Fine, I’ll do it,’ he said at last. Then grip
ped her upper arms. ‘But wait for me here, and don’t move a damn muscle. I’ll be back in ten minutes. Twenty tops? And then we’re leaving.’
‘Yes, Zane, although not moving a muscle may give me a cramp,’ she teased, stupidly touched that he’d opted not to break the promise he’d made to his cousin, however reluctantly.
‘Ha ha.’ Cupping her cheeks, he planted a hot, firm kiss on her lips—her insides churned with a potent mix of heat and embarrassment. ‘Stay put,’ he said, the command in his voice unequivocal. ‘Or there will be trouble.’
‘I certainly hope so,’ she chirped as he left.
She wrapped her arms round her waist, her lips lifting as she saw him stop in front of Maricruz. The girl dropped into a low curtsy in her ballgown, her forlorn expression turning to one of unadulterated glee. The girl laughed, her joy painfully transparent as he led her onto the dance floor and her Court of Honour cheered.
Iona sighed as she watched them together. Zane in his white shirt and dark trousers looked tall and impossibly dashing despite the fact that he was the only man on the floor not wearing a tuxedo. Perhaps it was his height—at six feet two or three he had several inches on the legion of teenagers dancing with their dates. Or maybe it was the tanned, chiselled features shadowed with stubble marking him out as a man and not a boy. Or maybe it was simply the effortless way he glided across the floor, his steps perfectly matched to Maricruz as he led the beaming girl in a series of perfectly executed twirls and dips. But as the romantic music swirled around her Iona realised it was more than Zane’s height or his looks or his dance skills that made him stand out so much: it was that aura of tension and distance that he wore like a cloak.
No wonder Maricruz had a major crush on him. Iona could just imagine herself at that age. There was an air of danger about Zane, that lurked just beneath the surface of that lazy charm.
‘Hello, I’m Juana.’
Iona jerked her gaze off Zane and his dance partner at the softly spoken interruption, to find a pair of astute coffee-coloured eyes studying her. ‘I’m one of Zane and Maricruz’s primos segundos. A second cousin,’ she clarified. ‘You’re Zane’s novia?’
‘Yes, that’s right, my name’s Iona. Iona McCabe,’ Iona replied politely, and offered her hand in greeting, even though she figured novia was a bit of an exaggeration—but she could hardly tell a girl who didn’t look much older than Maricruz that she wasn’t Zane’s girlfriend, she was simply his casual-sex fling. ‘Nice to meet you.’
The girl grinned, then turned her gaze back to the dance floor. She held a palm to her chest and sighed. ‘Zane’s so awesome. What’s it like dating him? Is it really cool?’
So Juana was another of Zane’s fan club.
‘It’s…’ Iona stumbled—cool didn’t quite cover what they’d done on their one date. ‘Yes, it’s pretty cool.’ And way hot.
‘I’m so glad he came, Maricruz would have been heartbroken if Zane didn’t show.’ The girl gazed at her. ‘So thanks for letting him.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Iona mumbled, confused. ‘Although it didn’t have much to do with me.’
The girl smiled and shrugged. ‘It’s still nice that you’re not as stuck up as the rest of them.’