Taken the Spaniard's Virgin

He nodded, his lips not quite curving, but his eyes filled with warmth.

Her mom and dad showed a tremendous amount of tact by actually going into the office and leaving Amber and Miguel alone but for the servants and security detail in the house.

Even so, she decided she wanted to go back to her bedroom where they could talk without any interruption.

They sat in the matching armchairs that faced the small fireplace at one end of her large room.

He caught her gaze and held it, determination burning in his eyes along with a lingering pain that caught at something she thought was dead in her heart. “I love you, Amber. I want to be with you.”

She hadn’t been expecting that. She really hadn’t. Wasn’t sure why not, after all, he’d made the claim the day before. But somehow, she had expected he’d want to talk about the baby, their breakup, anything but his supposed love for her.

She shook her head. “You can’t.”

“I do.”

She spoke the only truth that mattered any longer. “You don’t belong to me anymore, Miguel.”

“You are wrong. I am yours as you are mine.”

“No.” She shook her head, but wasn’t able to look away from him any more than she’d been able to the night before.

“Yes. I have been yours from that afternoon in Spain when we made love for the first time. Despite my stupidity on the phone, I have not touched another woman since you. Had no desire to do so. In my heart we were always together.”

She almost choked on her shock. Miguel was an alpha male to his toes…talking about love and hearts was…well, it had to be as foreign to him as Chinese was for her.

But she steeled herself against that knowledge and said, “Well, in mine, we weren’t. You broke up with me because you didn’t think I was worth trying to be celibate for—or making a commitment to—and I lived with knowledge. And when our baby died…when I almost died…you were nowhere around. If you had been mine, you would have been there. Stop deluding yourself, Miguel. I don’t know why you’re so intent on renewing a relationship that should never have happened, but it’s got nothing to do with undying love.”

“You are so sure of that?”

“Absolutely.”

“And yet, I do love you.”

“Your brand of love is deadly, Miguel. I don’t want it.”

“But you admit it is love?”

“No, only what you call love is bad for me.” And she finally recognized the metallic taste in her mouth. It was fear. Absolute terror in fact. She couldn’t let him in again because doing so the first time had almost destroyed her. This time, she might not survive. She almost hadn’t the first time.

Maybe it was irrational, but she associated him as deeply with their baby’s death as she did herself and with her own near death. She hadn’t realized it until now, but that terror was undeniable. Loving Miguel was deadly.

“There’s nothing to salvage between us.”

“I think there is and I will convince you.”

She shook her head.

“I once showed you Barcelona, will you return the favor for me now?”

“If I do, will you go away?” she asked desperately.

“I can’t.” At least he didn’t lie. “I need you and I believe you need me. I will prove to you that you can trust me again.” He looked consideringly at her. “Your sister thinks it is a good idea.”

“My sister believes in fairy tales, but then she’s living out her happy ending.”

“Perhaps I can convince you to believe again, too.”

She got up and went to her bureau drawer and grabbed a packet of pictures. She tossed them at him.