She ripped open a corner on a packet of antibiotic ointment and squirted a stream down the center of the split flesh. "Ramon is twisted inside."
Lucas went still under her touch. She'd thought he wasn't moving before, but this lethal steel of his tensed body couldn't be missed.
"It's all right." She rested a hand on his shoulder. "He didn't abuse me, but he's what you people in the States would call a, uh, total control freak."
Oh my. Her fingers flexed into him. She'd forgotten how broad Lucas's shoulder felt, her fingers nearly flat, not long enough even to curve around. Her thumb inched up to his neck, the bristly rasp of his five o'clock shadow so deliciously different from her skin.
And he had such a sensitive neck, his one vulnerability. A simple caress or kiss or nip and she could stir a growl of pleasure from him, had done so often after making the discovery. How easy it would be to avoid talking and enjoy...
Not now. Even if Lucia weren't snoozing inches away, they couldn't pick up where they left off. Sleeping with him would be like sleeping with a stranger, something she'd never done. It had taken her five months with Lucas before she'd slept with him at all— her first lover.
"Hold these." She passed him the butterfly bandages. "Because of his connection to my father, he assumed it was his duty—his right—to make sure I stayed in the family circle."
She pinched together the corners of flesh, wincing because he didn't—or wouldn't let himself. One at a time she lined up five of the white strips. "The women in Ramon's world have no rights or freedom. They landed in one of two categories—family or whore. At least I fell into the first category."
She sealed a large pad to his arm with only a second to spare as the sun dropped below the horizon. Dark blanketed them, all the heavier with his silence. Would he believe she'd left as soon as she could manage?
Just as he'd changed, so had she. She'd been a selfish brat when he'd known her before, justifying her wants in the name of a quest for adventure once she'd broken free of her father's home. She'd been a twenty-four-year-old adult with a glamorous job in the embassy, a job that was actually far more mundane than she'd expected.
Then into a boring old press brief walked the sexiest man ever.
Lucas had been wearing a blue uniform on his first day as the assistant air attache, the starched shirt sporting silver wings that told her he usually wore a flight suit. Even more exciting, he'd been from another country.
They'd been introduced. She would translate questions from local reporters. He spoke Spanish, but using a translator smoothed nuances, as well as giving him more time to prepare diplomatic answers.
She'd seen the reciprocated interest in Lucas Quade's eyes. Anticipation had spiked through her blood like one of the rich wines served at official embassy functions.
Except he hadn't even asked her out for a cup of coffee.
Oh, he'd been polite, right up to the second he'd walked away. So she'd asked him to lunch instead— half-certain he would laugh at her. Instead, he'd given her one of those slow, sexy stares as if peering deep inside her soul. He'd said thank you, but he had plans.
Her pride stung, but not enough to give up. She'd opted for a more subtle approach and let their paths continue to cross until finally, he bit.
Theirs hadn't been an easy romance, but it certainly had been exciting and frequently heartbreaking with passionate reconciliations.
They'd both soon realized they were abysmally ill matched, but couldn't keep their hands off each other. The familiar zing crackled between them even now.
Dios, he was sinfully attractive. Even in the middle of the jungle, five years and a lifetime of grief later, she still had to sit on her hands to keep from reaching for him.
Argh! She was such a loser. And he still hadn't said anything.
"I realize this is all a shock to you." And she'd put off long enough discussing the most important thing of all. She smoothed her daughter's damp curls from her forehead. "Lucia is your daughter."
His daughter.
Sara's revelation ricocheted inside Lucas's head like a bullet in a bunker. He'd known this was coming.
Still he knew better than to question her. On the off chance the little one actually was his, Sara would always remember he'd doubted. Which would make him a first-class ass. Best to bide his time.
Besides, he couldn't blame her for doing whatever it took to keep her child safe in such extreme conditions, and he was glad for Lucia that she had such a fierce protector. There hadn't been anyone around to look after him as a kid. He knew how that messed with a person's head, staying on guard 24-7 instead of playing kick ball in the park without worrying about bullets popping the ball.
Time to dig deep for some sensitivity. He covered Sara's hand with his, cupping Lucia's head in the dark. "I've been thinking about it most of today. Can't avoid the obvious conclusion."
There, that sounded good without lying.
Her sigh swirled in the lean-to, followed by a shuffle as she settled back against the tree. "So many times I've wanted to tell you, show her to you, and finally, here we all are and it seems so unreal."
He accepted that the odds of the kid being his were slim. He hated that Sara might feel she had to lie, but what did he know about things she may have endured?