“At around three-thirty on Christmas morning, Dylan and I would slip out of our bunk beds and sneak downstairs to see what Santa brought.” He shared the memory, but the gray had slipped into his tone of voice now, darkening the lightness of his story. “We would play with everything for about an hour, then put it back like we found it, even if the toy was in a box. We would tiptoe back into our room and wait for our parents to wake us up. We always pretended like we were completely surprised by the gifts.”
What was she missing here? Setting aside her napkin, she leaned closer. “Sounds like you and your brother share a special bond.”
“Shared,” he said flatly. “Dylan’s dead.”
She couldn’t hold back the gasp of shock or the empathetic stab of pain for his loss. For an awkward moment, the chorus of “Silver Bells” seemed to blare louder, the happy music at odds with this sudden revelation. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I didn’t know that.”
“You had no reason to know. He died in a car accident when he was twenty.”
She searched for something appropriate to say. Her lack of social skills had never bothered her before now. “How old were you when he died?”
“Eighteen.” He fidgeted with her sunglasses on the table.
“That had to be so horrible for you and for your parents.”
“It was,” he said simply, still toying with her wide-rimmed shades.
An awkward silence fell, the echoes of Christmas ringing hollow now. She chewed her lip and pulled the first question from her brain that she could scavenge. “Were you still at the military reform school?”
“It was graduation week.”
Her heart squeezed tightly at the thought of him losing so much, especially at a time when he should have been celebrating completing his sentence in that school.
Without thinking or hesitating, she pushed aside her sunglasses and covered Rowan’s hand. “Rowan, I don’t even know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say.” He flipped his hand, skimming his thumb along the inside of her wrist. “I just wanted you to know I’m trusting you with a part of my past here.”
Heat seeped through her veins at each stroke of his thumb across her pulse. “You’re telling me about yourself to…?”
His eyes were completely readable now, sensual and steaming over her. “To get closer to you. To let you know that kiss wasn’t just an accident. I’m nowhere near the saint the press likes to paint me.”
Heat warmed to full-out sparks of electricity arcing along her every nerve ending. She wasn’t imagining or exaggerating anything. Rowan Boothe wanted her.
And she wanted to sleep with him.
The inescapable truth of that rocked the ground underneath her.
* * *
The noise of a backfiring truck snapped Rowan back into the moment. Mari jolted, blinking quickly before making a huge deal out of attacking her plate of swordfish and cachupa, gulping coffee between bites.
The sputtering engine still ringing in his ears, Rowan scanned the marketplace, checking the position of their bodyguards. He took in the honeymooners settling in at the next table. The elderly couple that had photographed them earlier was paying their bill. A family of vacationers filled a long stretch of table.
The place was as safe as anywhere out in public.
He knew he couldn’t keep Mari and the baby under lock and key. He had the security detail and he hoped Mari would find peace in being out in public with the proper protection. The thought of her being chased down hallways for the rest of her life made him grind his teeth in frustration. She deserved better than to live in the shadows.
He owed little Issa a lot for how she’d brought them together. He was moved by the sensitive side of Mari he’d never known she had, the sweetly awkward humanity beneath the brilliant scientific brain and regal royal heritage.
Leaning toward the stroller, Rowan adjusted the baby’s bib, reassured by the steady beat of her little heart. He’d given her a thorough physical and thank God she was healthy, but she was still a helpless, fragile infant. He needed to take care of her future. And he would. He felt confident he could, with the help of Salvatore either finding the baby’s family or lining up a solid adoption.
The outcome of his situation with Mari, however, was less certain. There was no mistaking the desire in her golden eyes. Desire mixed with wariness.
A tactical retreat was in order while he waited for the appropriate moment to resume his advances. He hadn’t meant to reveal Dylan’s death to her, but their talk about the past had lulled him into old memories. He wouldn’t let that happen again.
He poured coffee from the earthen pot into his mug and hers. “You must have seen some lavish Christmas celebrations with your father.”
Her eyes were shielded, but her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her mug. “My father keeps things fairly scaled back. The country’s economy is stabilizing thanks to an increase in cocoa export, but the national treasury isn’t flush with cash, by any means. I was brought up to appreciate my responsibilities to my people.”
“You don’t have a sibling to share the responsibility.”
The words fell out of his mouth before he thought them through, probably because of all those memories of his brother knocking around in his gut. All the ways he’d failed to save Dylan’s life. If only he’d made different decisions… He forced his attention back into the present, on Mari.
“Both of my parents remarried other people, divorced again, no more kids, though.” She spread her hands, sunglasses dangling from her fingers. “So I’m it. The future of my country.”
“You don’t sound enthusiastic.”
“I just think there has to be someone better equipped.” She tossed aside the glasses again and picked up her coffee. “What? Why the surprised look? You can’t think I’m the best bet for my people. I would rather lock myself in a research lab with the coffeemaker maxed out than deal with the day-to-day events of leading people.”
“I think you will succeed at anything life puts in your path.” Who had torn down this woman’s confidence? If only she saw—believed in—her magnificence. “When you walk in a room, you damn near light up the place. You own the space with your presence, lady.”
She blew into her mug of coffee, eyeing him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But people and all their intangibles like ‘magnificence’ are beyond me. I like concrete facts.”