Exotic Nights

But he had—and oddly enough, it made the burden somewhat lighter. Not much, but a little.

His heart still pounded from the dream, but not as fiercely as usual. For once, he couldn’t even remember the specifics of the dream. He lay back down, curled around the warm woman next to him. Her back was to him, her beautiful naked buttocks thrust against his groin.

His cock stirred, but it was only out of proximity to her naked body and not because he wasn’t satiated already. In fact, he didn’t think he could make love again tonight. He wrapped his arms around her, happy in a way he’d not been in a long time to have a woman nestled against him. This woman.

He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he was incapable of love, but he acknowledged that he did feel something for her. Something beyond what he usually felt for the women who shared his bed.

She was more of a kindred spirit, in some respects. He kissed her shoulder, drew in a breath scented with whatever flowery shampoo she used. Her hair was a gorgeous tumble of silk. He drew it aside, up and out of the way, and pressed his lips to the back of her neck. She stirred in her sleep, made a little mewling sound that made him hard when he’d thought it was probably impossible again tonight.

How had he missed the lush beauty of her figure before? Even with forty extra pounds, she couldn’t have hidden these curves away. But he’d been fooled by the baggy clothes and shyness, just as everyone else had been. Her sister must have known Francesca was the real beauty, that Francesca would someday outshine her, and she’d been evil because of it.

He’d always believed Francesca was as duplicitous in their first marriage as her family had been, but now he wasn’t so sure. And, even if she was, she’d certainly paid enough for it, hadn’t she?

It killed him to think she’d suffered so much. Because he’d taken the Corazón del Diablo and alienated her from her family. She’d have never been working in a jewelry store, never been in a position to be attacked so brutally, had her family kept their fortune and she remain

ed a debutante.

But what choice had there been? The jewel was his, the symbol of his family and the touchstone of their memory. He’d have sold his soul to the devil to regain it.

Though, thinking about it, perhaps he already had.

Francesca turned in his arms then, her lips finding the sensitive spot beneath his ear, her tongue tracing the column of his neck and settling into the hollow of his throat. Marcos groaned as she rolled him onto his back and straddled his erect penis.

So much for being incapable again tonight.

Thank God.

The next day, when the house was still in mourning and arrangements to bury Ana were being made, Magdalena and her family came for a visit. Francesca instantly liked Marcos’s sister. She was a sweet, sunny personality, and she expressed sympathy and horror over the news about Ana’s death.

Francesca could tell she adored Marcos, who seemed to adore her equally. He’d said he wasn’t capable of love, but clearly he was mistaken. He played with the children, held the baby, and gave everyone presents.

When Magdalena asked if Francesca wanted to hold her newborn, Marcos shot her a frown. In spite of her determination not to let her silly heart see hope where there was none, that gesture alone flooded her with warmth. He knew it might be hard on her and he was prepared to intervene with some excuse if she gave him reason.

“Of course I would,” she said, taking little Amelia in her arms. The baby was red-faced and wide-eyed, and Francesca held her close, breathing in the scent of powder and newborn. It hurt to hold such a tiny baby—but maybe it hurt a little less than she’d thought it would only a few days before.

Cutting herself off from children until now had been necessary, but she felt as if she were ready to be around them again, as if the joy and love they brought weren’t necessarily denied her forever.

As Marcos’s involvement with his Foundation had brought home to her, there were still children who needed parents. She would never have her own child, but that didn’t mean she had to be childless if she chose not to be.

Once Magdalena and her husband and children had gone again, Marcos returned to his office and left her to her own devices. She spent time with Armando and then went for a walk in the vineyard. Her emotions were so tangled and torn.

She loved Marcos, but he’d said he did not love her. Could never love her. How could she manage the next three months this way?

How could she not?

There was no easy answer to that question. She wanted to spend every moment she could with him, wring every moment of happiness out of the situation, and hope for the best. And she wanted to escape at the same time, before she was crushed by the futility of loving a man who did not love her.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully enough, other than the sadness surrounding the funeral of a sixteen-year-old girl. Everyone from the winery turned out for the service. Ana was buried in a beautiful little cemetery near town. Marcos spared no expense, and the service was dignified and solemn. There would be no pauper’s grave for the poor girl from the streets.

The funeral saddened Francesca and made her anxious. When she returned to the bodega, she called Gilles. He seemed surprised to hear from her, but the news he gave her was good. Jacques’s doctors were pleased with his response to treatment thus far, though he was not out of the woods yet. He had a long road ahead, but everything seemed hopeful. Gilles had hired another jeweler, and a manager to run the business, and all was proceeding very well.

She hung up feeling both relieved and a bit wistful. The shop was doing great without her. After nearly eight years with Jacques, Gilles and a new crew could take the place over without her being missed at all. It was almost as if she’d had no imprint at all.

“What is wrong, querida?” Marcos asked.

Francesca had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t realized he’d walked in. “I was just talking to Gilles. He says Jacques is doing well, and the shop is running smoothly.”

“And this is something to look worried about?”