“Your Spanish is very good.”
“Not good enough.Escarlatais ‘scarlet,’ butpimpinela?”
“The scarlet pimpernel. A plant with scarlet flowers.” His lips quirked up at the corners. “Also the name of a movie I watched with Madre as a child.”
The name teased her memory. “Isn’t it a book, too?”
“One of the few times I have enjoyed the movie more than the book. Featuring a devastatingly handsome hero with a flair for fashion and seduction.”
“I didn’t know you liked to read.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.” He tapped his hand on the table. “Which is why, when my yacht docked and I spied a woman in black seated at a bayside café, I decided to take advantage so we could spend a little time together.”
An emphaticNo!sounded from her more rational mind. Her heart, that useless muscle that had gone from iron-clad and frosty to weak and feeling, disagreed.
“Alejandro—”
“Calandra,” he broke in, “you set the terms of this arrangement.” He leaned across the table and, before she could stop him, grabbed her hand in his. “And you’re avoiding me.” His finger traced a circle on the back of her hand, his delicate touch as light as butterfly wings, yet no less potent than the sensual attack he’d unleashed on her body four months ago. “I just want to get to know you better.”
The pattern he’d traced on her skin burned as if he’d etched it into her. She snapped her gaze off his hand and refocused on her half-eaten croissant.
“Which leaves me with only one course of action. To show the mother of my child that I’m not the evil man she thinks I am.”
She sighed. “You’re not evil. I never accused you of that.”
He glanced toward the bay, his hand staying on top of hers as if he was afraid she might flee.
Which she had. Multiple times. But in this moment, running was the furthest thing from her mind. What was first and forefront was the hint of discomfort she’d heard in his voice.
“I don’t think you’re evil,” she repeated. She tugged her hand out, but before he could move settled her fingers on top of his. Warmth blossomed in her fingertips as she registered the slight dusting of black hair on the back of his hand, the heat of his skin, the erotic contrast of dark tan skin beneath her own pale white.
“Then why?”
When he turned to look at her, there was no arousal in his eyes. No artifice, no seduction. Just a simple question and, if she looked a little deeper, pain lurking in those dark blue depths.
She had no desire to air her family’s deepest secrets. But the longer she looked at Alejandro,reallylooked at him, the guiltier she felt. Yes, he was a playboy. Unlike her father, however, she’d never seen evidence of him being cruel, of using money to try and slap a Band-Aid over a heart he’d crushed to smithereens with his selfishness.
“My father...he liked to have fun. Too much fun.” Her mind raced as she tried to condense years of pain, rage and loss into as few words as possible. “His actions, especially his infidelity, hurt my mother. To the point that she became very depressed and eventually passed away.”
A simplified and very watered-down version of the truth. But it was the best she could manage for now.
“I’m sorry.”
She swallowed hard and nodded. “Thank you.” She sat back, pulling her hand away. The moment of reassurance had been nice, but the longer she allowed it, the more likely she was to share more. Sharing led to vulnerability. Vulnerability led to feelings. In her experience, feelings led to heartbreaking situations like a young girl being forced to grow up into a mother and caregiver before her tenth birthday.
Or two daughters watching their mother’s coffin being lowered into the ground, one still just a child, the other forced into adulthood far too fast.
But, she reminded herself as she put the brakes on her maudlin reminiscing, the genuine empathy in Alejandro’s eyes let her know she’d done the right thing. If he was truly interested in being a father to their child, he deserved to know why she was struggling so hard with letting him be a part of her life.
Johanna would be proud, she thought wryly. Her sister was always encouraging her to open up and share her feelings more.
“I better understand your reticence to let me into our child’s life.” He leaned back in his chair. “One thing I’d like to reassure you on, Calandra. I won’t be parading women in and out of their life. I want him, or her, to have some stability.”
She swallowed the insult that rose in her throat, harsh words powered by bias and an unwelcome bit of jealousy.
“Thank you.”
“What can I do to make you feel more comfortable with the idea of me being involved?”