Exotic Nights

He grabbed her arm. “Stay. Please.”

She seemed to hesitate, but then she lay back down and curled into him again. Her body against his was comforting, soothing. He stared at the ceiling. How had he fallen asleep here with her? And why didn’t he want to leave?

He should push himself up, should return to his own room, but he couldn’t seem to do so.

“Would it help to talk about it?” she asked very quietly.

“It’s an old dream,” he said, though that’s not what he’d intended to say. “There’s a dark room, rats, and a snake.”

“Is this something that happened when you were a child? When you lived on the streets?”

He swallowed. How could he tell her it was worse than that? “Something like that, yes.”

Her hand slipped over his abdomen, tracing the scar he’d gotten from a close brush with an enemy machete. “Where did this come from, Marcos? Does this have anything to do with your dreams?”

“No more words,” he said, rolling on top of her soft body. “I can think of better things than talking.”

CHAPTER TEN

FRANCESCA DIDN’T EVER want to leave the bed again, not when Marcos was in it with her. But hunger finally won out. She slipped from the bed and took a quick shower, her body still aching in places it had not in a very long time. But it was a very pleasurable ache.

She almost hoped Marcos would wake and join her in the shower, but then it would be even longer before she got any breakfast. Frowning, she thought back to the last time they’d made love, when he’d woken from his nightmare. He’d been so intense, so driven. She wanted to take away his pain, and the only way she’d been able to do that was by giving him her body.

Yet she’d wanted more. She’d wanted him to talk to her, really talk to her, and she’d wanted to feel as if she were important to him as more than a bed partner. He’d called her his kitten, and her heart still throbbed when she remembered the way he’d said it, but she had to remind herself it meant nothing in the scheme of things.

This was a temporary arrangement, and she was leaving as soon as it was over. She had to remember that.

But her heart didn’t want to think about it. Her heart, dismayingly, only wanted to think of Marcos.

When she emerged from the shower, she dressed in one of the new outfits, a flattering cream silk tank and pale yellow Capri pants. It surprised her, but she had to admit that Marcos had been right about her clothes. These were far more suitable than the older jeans and blousy tops she’d been wearing.

She felt good, but whether it was the clothes or the afterglow from last night, she wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps a bit of both.

She returned to the bedroom, a little kick of disappointment hitting her in the breastbone when she discovered that Marcos had gone.

Probably, he’d returned to his own room to shower and dress. What would happen now that they’d been intimate? Would he expect her to move into his room? Would he move in here? Or would they keep separate rooms and spend their nights like illicit lovers rather than a married couple?

So many questions, and none she could really answer. Voices issued from the kitchen as she approached. Curious, she peeked inside. Armando sat in a high chair, banging the tray, and Ingrid was gesturing wildly as she spoke to another woman. They turned when they saw her.

“Señora Navarre,” Ingrid said. “Buenas tardes. If you would like to go outside, I will serve breakfast there in a few moments.”

“Of course,” Francesca said, though it still jolted her to hear herself referred to as Señora Navarre. “But what’s wrong? Is it something I can help with?”

Ingrid sighed and glanced at the other woman. “Ana Luis has run away. She met a boy, and has left to be with him.”

Francesca glanced at Armando. He seemed oblivious to his mother’s absence as he shoved cereal around on his tray. “She left her baby?”

“Yes,” Ingrid said with a sigh.

“Does Marcos know?”

“Señor Navarre has just been informed. He has sent men to look for her, I believe.”

“When did she go?”

“Sometime in the night. I found Armando alone in his crib when I arrived. Poor baby,” she said, reaching over to tousle his hair. Armando giggled. Francesca’s heart squeezed hard at the sound. He had no idea he’d been abandoned. No idea he wasn’t wanted.

Why could people who didn’t care about children have them when she couldn’t?