“When people care about each other, they share things. They don’t keep secrets.” She swallowed thickly. “I cared about someone once, and he kept secrets from me. Secrets that ended up hurting me very much. He betrayed my trust, and you knew that. Why would you think I would let you do the same?”
“But Antoine was with another woman.”
“And you were…”
She let the end of the sentence hang, unsaid, but both of them knew the last two words were with Rosa. What she didn’t expect was the way Tomas came forward and gripped her fingers in his. The pressure on her knuckles was nearly painful, until he released one hand and reached up to cup her jaw.
“Not with another woman,” he denied. “You need to understand. I loved Rosa, and a person never truly gets over losing someone they love. But I wanted to keep Rosa out of it. I was with you, Sophia.” He sighed, the sound intimate in the dusky night. “Only with you. No one else.”
Hope, she realized, was a treacherous thing. It made her heart lift at his words, and she leaned her cheek into the wide palm of his hand. Had he truly not mentioned Rosa because he didn’t want it to interfere with them? It seemed impossible.
And if it were true, then what on earth was she to do now?
“Tell me about polo. Tell me about the Mendoza family business.”
He turned his head. “I can’t. I can’t go back. I won’t. I’m sorry.”
Resignation filled Sophia like a heavy weight. She had given him ample opportunities. Had flat-out asked him and still he refused, ensuring there was always that barrier between them. Leaving was still best, before she got in any deeper. Before she did something she would regret.
“You must be cold,” he murmured. “You should have worn a sweater.”
“I’m fine,” she whispered. If she admitted she was cold, he would suggest they go back, and she wasn’t ready to give up her time alone with him yet. These might be their last private moments together.
“But you are shivering.”
She couldn’t tell him the reason why. She could admit it to herself, but she could not verbalize it. He would think she was silly. He chafed her arms with his hands, the friction sending delicious warmth down to her fingertips.
“It has been a memorable week,” Sophia said, knowing she had to tell him of her plans now, get it over with.
“Si,” he replied. “More eventful for some of us than others.”
“I seem to create chaos wherever I go.” Sophia smiled.
“But I didn’t take good care of you. Some things…” he paused, frowned. “Some things never should have happened.”
It would hurt her desperately if he meant kissing her, or spending the night together. She couldn’t bear for him to say it, so she took his hand in hers. “You didn’t ask me to go racing across the pampas with my hair on fire, did you? My fall was hardly your fault.”
He looked at her head, lifting his hand and twining a curl around his finger. “But, querida,” he said softly, “Your hair is on fire. Gorgeous flames, like sunrise.”
His hand was threaded into her curls now and her body swayed closer to him. She knew he was trying to distract her, and it ceased to matter.
“I bet you sweet-talk all the señoritas,” she whispered, desperately trying to keep herself on an even footing with him and failing beautifully. But she regained her balance quickly. “And the other night you said my hair was like sunset, not sunrise.”
She couldn’t tell if he was blushing in the dark, but the abashed expression on his face was gratifying enough. This was the Tomas she wanted to remember, the one she wanted to hold in her dreams when she returned to Canada.
“That is a bet you would lose,” he responded. “I am not in the habit of sweet-talking, as you call it. Not at all. As you can see.”
His other hand sank into her hair. “I don’t know what to do about you, Sophia. I can’t seem to stay away, but on the other hand this seems pointless.”
“There’s nothing pointless about feeling this way,” she whispered. “It feels wonderful, Tomas.” She blinked slowly, opening her eyes again, almost to make sure he was really there holding her. One last chance before leaving. “Don’t stop.”
Her arms hung by her sides as her breath caught. The rising moon cast shadows on his face that had her heart knocking about like crazy. Was he going to kiss her?
“What am I going to do with you?” He whispered it, his voice silky and with the gorgeous Spanish lilt.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “But I wish you’d do it soon, Tomas. Por favor.”
He didn’t need further invitation. As the breeze fluttered through the ombu leaves, he placed his lips on hers, tasting, savouring. The air came out of Sophia’s lungs in a soft, breathy sigh. He tasted like all the best things of the day—the rich Malbec, the caramel sweetness of the alfajores, even the tang of the mate, all combined with a flavour that was Tomas. Gentle and persuasive, he guided her until her body was pressed against his. He was strong and solid, an unmovable wall next to her softness. And she did feel soft and delicate and feminine next to his strength. She tilted her head and slid her hands up over his chest to rest on his shoulders as she kissed him back.