Exotic Nights

She sniffed, and was furious with herself for doing so. Being weak was not how she’d survived those dark days, or how she’d gotten where she was now.

“It’s all right, Marcos. You don’t have to explain.”

He sank down again, elbows on his knees, his hands steepled together. “I am angry, you are correct about this. Angry enough that I want to find these men and punish them for what they did to you. And I want to find this Robert too. I want them to bleed, Francesca. For you.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s not what I want,” she managed, her heart zipping recklessly.

“I know this,” he replied. “It’s what I want.”

She could see the warrior in him then. A man who said he’d seen the worst that one person could do to the other. He’d not only seen it, he knew how to do it. And she knew he was capable of it. A shiver washed down her spine at the thought.

“I will not do this,” he continued. “But it’s what I want to do.”

“It’s in the past, Marcos. Nothing will bring my little girl back now. If it would, I’d do it myself, believe me.”

He was looking at her in a new way, she realized. Was it respect? Or pity? She couldn’t tell, and she was too emotionally exhausted to figure it out.

“It is no wonder I didn’t recognize you that night,” he said. “You have changed, Francesca, and not only in a physical way. Don’t you see how strong you are? How fierce and protective? How could you think that you are not unbelievably beautiful? You blind me with your beauty.”

Armando stirred in her arms then, saving her from having to say something in return. Because, quite frankly, he’d stunned her. And given her hope. Was it possible he felt something more for her too? Was it silly to believe that maybe there could be something wonderful between them?

Marcos’s cell phone rang. He answered it with a clipped, “Sí.” And then, much quicker than she’d expected, he was finished. His eyes were dark with emotion. He reached out to stroke Armando’s curls and shook his head, his jaw clenched tight.

“Marcos, what is it?” she asked. Deep inside, she knew it wasn’t good. She could see it in his face, feel it in the air. Poor, poor Armando.

“They’ve found Ana.”

“But that’s good, right?” Hope beyond hope. Please let this baby get his mother back …

“She’s not coming back, Francesca. Not ever. She and her boyfriend were drinking. There was an auto accident. They did not survive.”

The house was in an uproar for several hours. Marcos went with one of the men to claim the body for burial. The teens seemed to come out of the woodwork now, their ability to concentrate on their tasks severely compromised. Ingrid rocked Isabelle, who cried endlessly. Though Ana hadn’t lived at the winery for long, Isabelle had grown close to her in that short time.

Ana, it seemed, had been vibrant and fun, quick to laugh, a peacemaker and sweet girl who just wanted to be loved. It was that need to be loved that had led her to run away with a boy she’d thought adored her. No one knew who Armando’s father had been, but they knew Ana had been in love with him once. He’d abandoned her and she’d ended up here, lonely and scared and still looking for love.

Armando was, thankfully, asleep in his crib. He’d begun to cry again when so many others were doing so, but Francesca got him to go back to sleep and he was currently bedded down in the room he’d shared with his mother.

By the time Ma

rcos returned, it was late. Everyone had trickled back to their rooms by then. One of the young women had gone to stay in the room with Armando. Francesca had thought about having him brought into her room, but he’d been asleep and she’d been afraid that moving him would only wake him.

When Marcos walked in, she could see the strain on his face. Her heart went out to him. How was it that this man, this wealthy man who controlled a vast empire, could be so broken up over one young girl whom he’d never even met?

She could explain it, because she knew Marcos, but there truly weren’t enough words to do so. The way she’d fought for Jacques, the way she would have fought for her baby if she could have, this was the way he fought for these kids. With his whole heart, though she wasn’t sure he realized that’s what it was. He felt obligated, he’d said, because he’d been one of them.

But it was more than that. He could have turned out so cold and brutal after what had happened to him, but he wasn’t.

He came over and caught her to him, sweeping her off her feet so quickly she gasped in surprise.

“No words, Francesca,” he said. “I need you too much for words.”

She didn’t realize he’d carried her to his room until they were inside and he was whisking her shirt over her head. For some reason, the fact he’d taken her to his room caught at her heart and made hope blossom more strongly than before.

He stripped her urgently while she tore at his clothes in return. As soon as they were naked, they fell to the bed, mouths melding, limbs fusing, bodies straining for each other.

She was so turned on, so ready for him, that she didn’t need any preliminaries. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she urged him inside her. When they were joined, she thought he would take her to the heights of pleasure very quickly, that his need was urgent.

Instead, he moved languidly, thoroughly, touching her so deeply that she could only gasp with each stroke. She’d never felt like this before, never felt her heart expanding so wide, the joy and pleasure of being with a man she loved so very much making the experience that much more intense.