In truth, she should want to run screaming from a memory such as that. But the prospect of getting back into the car with him right now was even more frightening. “I want to go see it.”
He studied her for a long moment. Was he remembering the kiss too? Or, more likely, he was wondering if she planned to bolt again. “Explain to me what happened in the car.”
She fiddled with the edge of his jacket. “It was a panic attack, Alejandro. Nothing more. I’m not sick. But if I get back in the car right now, I might be. I just need space.”
Space without him in it, without him invading her senses and making her question everything she thought and said.
He rubbed a hand over his face as if he were about to make a choice he didn’t want. “Sí, fine, we will go.”
“We?” She wanted to be alone, not shadowed by this hulking shell of a man, not reminded at every turn that he’d betrayed her trust more than once.
His mouth twisted. “You think I will allow you to go alone? No, this is not possible. What if you were to have another attack?”
“I won’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because it rarely happens. I can’t even remember the last time.” A lie. She remembered very well the last time she’d had an attack so bad she couldn’t breathe. It was the moment she’d climbed into the taxi after leaving his suite five years ago. She had mild attacks from time to time, but it took exceptionally powerful emotion to make it difficult for her to breathe. “I just want some time to myself, out in the open, without you stalking after me.”
“This is not an option, Rebecca. We go together, or we return to the car.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t talk you out of it, can I?”
“No.” His expression was unreadable.
“Fine,” she sighed. “Let’s go.”
He tipped his head toward the jacket. “If you will permit me to get my phone? I must tell Mateo where to pick us up.”
Rebecca nodded, and he parted the material. His fingers brushed the swell of her breast as he reached into an inner pocket. She didn’t think he did it on purpose, but that didn’t stop the involuntary shiver that raced through her.
When he finished, they walked in silence to the archway and passed beneath, emerging into a huge square lined on all four sides by a portico. Painted figures adorned the portion of the façade stretching between two clock towers. All around the square, tables and chairs were set out in front of the restaurants that lined the perimeter. At this hour, patrons were eating dinner. It always struck her as odd that Spaniards ate so late. At least there were tapas for people like her.
“Which café did we drink the sherry at?”
Alejandro pointed to one of the arched openings that was both entry and exit from the square. “There, near the Arco de Cuchilleros. Do you want to go?”
“No.” She almost said yes, but decided it was too much to revisit the memory in the exact spot. She was already tempting fate simply walking through this plaza with him. She moved out into the square and turned slowly around, gazing at the buildings and balconies. Anything to take her mind off the man before her.
Alejandro stood casually, his hands in his pockets. His white shirt stood out against the darkened square. He was still wearing his bow tie, which she found immensely sexy for some reason.
“There are two hundred and thirty-seven balconies and nine entrances,” he said.
“It’s very beautiful.” He was beautiful, damn him. Beautiful and lethal.
He shrugged. “The inquisition once put heretics to death here.”
“Yes, well we have nothing like it in New York. Central Park, maybe, but that’s a park and not a town square.”
Violin music began to drift from the portico. It was soft, haunting. A street musician playing for tips most likely. Rebecca closed her eyes, blocking out Alejandro, and swayed to the music. So pretty, so peaceful. Inevitably, she remembered making love with him beneath a moon-drenched sky while violin music drifted from the radio in the rooftop suite. Did he remember it too?
“I know what you are thinking,” he said, his voice soft and sensual—and closer than she expected.
Her eyes popped open to find him hovering over her. She stopped swaying and gazed up at him. How could any one man be so attractive? He was like a fallen angel with his dark hair and mesmerizing stare.
“No, you don’t,” she replied, her heart thrumming in her breast.
He slipped an arm around her, hauled her closer. “Oh, sí, I do. I am thinking of it too.”
Her brain sent the signal to back away, but too late. His other hand grasped one of hers, placed it on the hard muscle of his bicep. Another pull and she was flush against his body.
Breast to belly to hip. His arousal came as a surprise and her breath broke on a gasp.
“Yes, I want you,” he said.
“But you hate me.”
His easy grin had the power to light the dark corners of her soul. He was so much like the old Alejandro in that moment that it made her ache.
“And you hate me. This does not stop our bodies from desiring one another, sí?”
She realized he was swaying them in time to the music, guiding her in a slow and sensual dance. And she suddenly didn’t want to be anywhere else. Her body recognized his, answered with the sweet ache of desire. Her sex grew damp and her breasts felt heavy, needy.
She closed her eyes, gave in to the temptation to press her cheek to his chest. His heart beat loud and strong beneath her touch. Quick, but not racing like hers. Whatever this was, he was affected too.
They moved
